This Is Not Going to Be My Life
by nocturnal08
Summary: Why eleven year old Sam Winchester hates his life. Angsty, gradually developing plot. The boys hit Pastor Jim's and the hunt goes downhill from there. Please Review!
1. Sammy gets it

Disclaimer: They're not mine, but you knew that.

Author's note: Okay, so there's nothing really interesting about this little domestic scene. Review if you'd like. I love the feedback!

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_**This is Not Going to Be My Life**_

Sam woke up suddenly, his whole body becoming tense and his senses hyperaware. That was normal for him. He had been trained to be ready for anything from the moment he woke up till the moment he allowed himself to sleep. His muscles ached from training hard the day before. Dad had been pushing both Dean and Sam in hand to hand combat and given that Sam was stuck in an eleven-year-old body while Dean had the advantage of a fifteen-year-old's height and muscle mass, Sam had been at the receiving end of many a well aimed blow.

_Yep, that's a bruise,_ Sam thought to himself at the sharper pain that burned his side as he pulled his body upright and reached for some clothes. The twin bed that usually held the sleeping body of his older brother and the sound of running water coming from the bathroom clued Sam into the fact that Dean was already up. That wasn't a good sign.

_Did I oversleep? _Sam glanced at the clock. It read 5:45. The school bus for the K-8 school came at 7:15, while the high school bus rolled up at 7:55. Dean tended to wait till the last minute before pulling himself out of bed, which meant the brothers rarely saw much of each other in the mornings. _He's taking Dad's lecture to heart_, Sam grinned. John had given the teen hell for missing the bus last week. Dean usually did what their father told him, but this seemed a little extreme.

Sam let his mind wander as he stretched out his tight muscles, then he grabbed his books and headed down to the kitchen to make the coffee for his Dad and brother. He liked to be the first one up in the morning and usually took the time to finish up any homework he hadn't had time to fit into John's intense training schedule.

His class had a project on the Founding Fathers due today, which he had been working on all week. He had finished the paper component yesterday at lunch so that he could print it out on the school's computer. It was already in his backpack. Sam knew it was good and smiled a little in satisfaction while he pulled out his notes for the group presentation today. He was supposed to pretend to be Paul Revere, which was kind of silly, but Sam was kind of excited because Tessa Jamison was in his group. She was without a doubt the prettiest girl in their grade and smart, too. He would have asked her to the Winter Ball, but John wasn't really big on school events and Sam knew that he would probably be hunting that weekend, because they went hunting_ every_ weekend. Anyway, she probably would have gone to the dance with him if he had asked, but now she was going with Joey Harrington, which sucked out loud.

Sam sighed to himself as he got out a bowl of cheerios and contemplated using the last of the milk; there was really only enough for one but Dean would probably want to eat something this morning too and there wasn't much besides cereal in the house. He compromised by only taking half a bowl and sat down to reread his note cards. He was halfway though the midnight ride when John came in from the garage, which in this house was connected to the kitchen. Sam looked up in surprise; it was unusual for his Dad to be up before the boys left for school. John was fully dressed and had a familiar look of intensity on his face.

"Hey Dad, I made coffee," Sam proffered.

"Thanks kiddo," John said distractedly.

"Where are you going?" Sam asked, taking a bite of his cereal.

"_We _are heading up to Pastor Jim's."

"_Today?" _Sam tried to conceal his distress.

"Watch your tone," John demanded, his voice rising. "Yes, today. We're leaving in an hour. Get your stuff and clean out the fridge."

"But Dad. Today is a _school _day." Sam was having trouble regulating his tone and knew he was walking on thin ice, but couldn't keep the protest from slipping out.

John fixed him with a warning glare. "Samuel. I am not going to tell you again," His voice was flat and angry.

Sam glared into his cheerios, but choked the requisite "yes, sir." John found it less than convincing, but let silence settle over the small, dirty kitchen as he grabbed a mug of coffee. Sam, adolescent rebellion aside, sure did make a good cup of joe.

His youngest was hardly ready to let it go. After moment he looked across the table at his father and tried again. "Dad, couldn't we leave tonight? After school?"

"Sam!" John was incredulous. Was his son really going to push him on this?

"It's just that there's this project and we're supposed to—"

"What you are _supposed _to do is listen to your father. When I tell you to do something, I don't want any _backtalk_. Do you understand me?"

"Yes." Sam bit out, sounding desperate. "Dad. I understand. It's just that—"

"What we do is important, Samuel! More important than some school project." John emphasized by picking up one of Sam's notecards and brandishing it in his face, like it was something he should be ashamed of.

"_Give it back_." Sam growled, surprising them both with his intensity. He stood up in open rebellion. "Are we going to be back by Monday? What are we even _hunting, _Dad?"

"SAM! That's enough!"

"It's not FAIR, Dad! You just do whatever you want! What about me and Dean?"

"How _dare _you?" John growled back, nearly knocking over his chair as he surged to his feet. Seizing his eleven year old by the collar, John nailed him hard on the behind five times. Sam grunted in pain, but other than that held his tongue, struggling to control his breathing.

Hauling the boy upright, John forced Sam to look him in the eyes. "You _will not _speak to me in that tone of voice and you _will _obey my orders. Is that clear?"

After a major internal struggle, Sam spit out "Yes."

John tightened his grip momentarily. "Yes, _what?" _He prompted, dangerously quiet.

"Yes. _sir_." Sam responded, desperate to get out of the room.

"Go get your stuff together. You have _fifteen _minutes." John growled as he released Sam's collar. The boy stumbled backward momentarily before catching himself and quickly shoving his school work into his bag. He kept his eyes down as he stormed up the stairs, nearly bowling into Dean as the fifteen-year old made his way down the narrow stairway.

"Good morning to you too," Dean said sarcastically as he flattened against the wall to let his younger brother pass. He had heard the whole argument from upstairs and had dressed quickly so as to help ease the tension. Seemed he had arrived a little late.

"_Go to hell." _Said the eleven year old, under his breath but distinct enough to be heard by his sibling and father. Dean raised his eyebrows in surprise. Sam was still young enough that swear words were completely taboo to him. Under normal circumstances John would have had something to say, but he let it pass as Sam continued up to the room he shared with his brother.

Dean looked warily at his father as he poured himself his own cup of coffee. John tried to soften his demeanor. "Dean. Eat some breakfast, then get the dishes," he ordered.

"Yes, sir." Dean said lightly, dumping Sam's half eaten bowl of cheerios down the drain as his father took another load out to the car. _Good Times_, he thought sarcastically as he heard Sam stomping angrily in the room above.


	2. Sammy's Adolescent Angst

Disclaimer: They're not mine, but you knew that.

Author's note: More Sammy angst. I love this kid so much. Please review!

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_**This is Not Going to Be My Life**_

You aren't supposed to hate your father. That's what everyone said, anyway. Sam tried to reign in the anger. He didn't really hate John. _Yes, I really do_. **Then why do you care so much what he thinks, huh?** _I don't care._**Yes, you do**. _Yes, I do. **Damnit**. _

_I was just trying to _**talk **_to him. _**He never** _listens _**to me**._ I hate it here_, Sam wanted to scream or maybe whimper. It was all so humiliating.

_Get a grip, you idiot, _he ordered himself through clenched teeth. His whole face was red in the effort to hold back tears. His body still ached from training last night and now his butt was throbbing too. _Damn, damn, damn. _Today was gonna suck. He wanted to go to school and couldn't stand that he was letting his group down. When they got back he would have to come up with some lame excuse and he would be behind, which was not good 'cause it was near the end of the term and he might not have time to do the make-up work. Tessa was going to roll her eyes, probably she would never speak to him again. They were all going to think he was a flake and he would be ostrasized.

He kept his hands busy, throwing his stuff into a bag. It didn't really take that long, he didn't really have that much stuff _to _pack. Just some clothes and a couple books. Once he had everything, he quickly made his bed and ducked into the bathroom. He splashed water on his hot face and glared at himself in the mirror. He was small for eleven, though he had big hands and feet. Meant he was due for a growth spurt as dramatic as Dean's one of these days. That's what _Dad _said.

_Dad hates me_. The thought probed the depth of his adolescent despair and hurt a lot more than a couple of swats on the butt. He wanted to cry, to let it out in gusty sobs the way he had when he was little. But he wasn't little anymore and Dad hadn't held him that way for over five years. So he forced himself to swallow all the bitterness. Forced himself to relax. He blew his nose and swallowed a couple aspirin, feeling the beginnings of a headache forming. _You're okay, _he told himself. His face stared back skeptically, but he turned resolutely back to the bedroom.

Dean was still in the kitchen when Sam came down to dump his bag in the trunk. He gave Sam a sympathetic look, which brought back the rage of emotions that Sam barely had on lock down. Sam covered it all with a dark glare. _Good idea, _Sam berated himself, _piss off the only relative that gives a damn_.

"Only you could get in this much trouble before 6:00 am," Dean tried, taking the sting from the taunt with a grin and streching his tired muscles.

"It's 6:30," Sam retorted. _Okay, that sounded better in his head. _

Dean just rolled his eyes in exasperation, motioning for Sam to get to work on the refrigerator. Like that would take long. It's not like they had any food. Dean had taken the last of the milk and there was just some gross cottage cheese that looked past its prime already, a couple of slices of bread and two mushy apples, which Sam tossed.

"Take out the garbage." Dean ordered.

"Why should I?" Sam snapped.

"I swear to God, Sam," Dean growled.

"What?" Pure venom.

"Could you try to, I don't know, _not _be a bitch?"

Sam glared sullenly, but took out the trash while Dean finished with the dishes.

The Winchesters piled into the Impala right on schedule, John gripping the wheel with white knuckles. Tension was high. Sam stared resolutely out the window.

"Hey Dad, can I drive after lunch?" Dean asked, breaking the silence.

John threw his eldest an appraising look. "Sure," He said as they pulled out of the driveway.

"Cool." Dean responded, putting in his earphones and leaning back in the front seat. John sighed lightly as the buzz of classic rock could be clearly heard.

"Turn it down." He ordered firmly. Dean complied without saying a word.

Sam took _To Kill a Mockingbird _from his bag and started reading.

John pulled onto the highway, turning the car north towards Minnesota. He mentally traced their route. Hopefully they would make it to Blue Earth by 4:30. Jim had called last night, after Sam was already asleep. He was looking into some disappearances in the Minnesota woods, called John for backup. He owed Jim a couple favors, _more than I can ever repay._ And it would be good experience for the boys. This was the right thing to do, he told himself, glancing through the mirror at Sam in the backseat. Sam would understand that in time.


	3. Pastor Jim's

Author's note: Okay, so I think the story is getting better. Hope you like the new developments. Thanks for reading and please, please review!

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_**This is Not Going to Be My Life**_

Jim Murphy was waiting by the door when the familiar vehicle pulled up next to the rectory. He had new developments on the hunt and wanted to share them with John as soon as the man arrived.

The Winchesters were still a mystery to him, though he had worked the periphery of their lives for most of Sammy's life. John was a private man and possessive of his sons, refusing to share them with the general public. Jim recognized that he had been privileged with the man's trust and on occasion did receive social calls. Thanksgiving, Christmas and every year on November 2, John would roll in, mostly unannounced. Sometimes he would drop off the boys, then speed out on some solo hunt to return wound up or out of his mind drunk. Sometimes he forgot about or, more likely, ignored holidays and Jim learned to forgive John for silent Christmas mornings. If those boys could do it, then so could the Pastor.

Mostly John and the Pastor bonded over the hunt, digging through ancient manuscripts Jim had inherited with the territory. Exorcism rituals, benedictions, curses. Jim was always ready to help with whatever John was working on, though John didn't usually call till he was backed in a corner or one step ahead of the hounds of hell. How many times had he sewed the man up or set a broken limb?

The impala doors slammed, with the three Winchesters emerging. Jim raised an eyebrow at Dean's parking job, which made the teen smile ruefully as he returned the keys to John. Jim resisted making a comment about how tall the boy was getting, but gave him an appraising look. With all the training John put the boys through, they were strong, agile, _dangerous_. He had seen both boys handle anything from hunting knifes to pistols with ease. He knew how tough they were, had treated a gunshot wound or two on the boys. He remembered Sam's haunted eyes all too well.

The eleven year old stood there moodily while Jim reached out to shake John's hand. "Hi John. Thanks for getting here so fast." John shot Sam a look that Murphy couldn't interpret, except that it made the boy look down, glaring.

"Howdy Jim. We got here as fast as we could." John said, grasping the priest's arm firmly. "Boys, unload the car." He glanced at his watch. They had gotten there a little ahead of schedule; it was only 3:40. _How fast had Dean been driving?_

"There was a report this morning of another missing person." Jim informed them, causing Sam and Dean to straighten, all traces of childish slouches abandoned. John nodded tersely, ordered the boys to stay close and led the way into the pastor's house.

"We don't even know what it is yet." Sam griped to no one in particular when he was sure John was out of ear shot. He grabbed a bag that most eleven year olds would not be able to handle and stomped up the creaking steps.

Dean rolled his eyes expressively, pausing while his family disappeared into the house. Jim smiled at the boy. Since the age of six Dean had been raised to fight, to protect. He moved gracefully on a hunt, eyes sharp, smile ready. Jim couldn't help being impressed with him. The added height looked good and Jim knew he was coming into his adult build early, skipping the awkwardness of most gangly teenage boys. Of all the Winchesters, Jim found Dean the easiest to deal with. John was too driven, Sam prone to drag his feet. Dean was stuck being the level headed, slightly mischievous one of the group. He tempered John's obsession, kept Sam from falling behind. He was a good boy, Jim thought affectionately, would grow to be a good man.

"Good to see you, son," Jim said clapping him on the back and shaking his hand heartily.

"Back at ya, Pastor Jim." Dean returned with the warm smile, then collected his own load to bring in.

"What's up with Sam?" Jim asked, trusting that Dean would know exactly what was bothering his younger brother. Dean cultivated an outward demeanor of alternating exasperation and indifference toward to the younger boy, but Jim knew just how deep his loyalty and affection went.

Dean paused to grin at the man who had earned his trust long ago. "Got spanked," he said shortly and with indelicate good humor.

"Ah," Jim smiled in rueful understanding.

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Once everything was in order, John dismissed the boys while he and Jim discussed the hunt. Sam's incessant questions and black mood were wearing on him and he wanted to get the boy out of there before he lost his temper again.

Dean didn't like to be excluded but he was as aware of John's irritation as much the man himself and quickly steered his brother out of harm's way. Sam was looking mulish, but Dean bribed him off with the promise of shooting some hoops in the church parking lot. Sam loved sports but rarely got a chance to play. Dean had none of his competitiveness and seemed mystified by the whole concept. He couldn't bring himself to care about a silly game when he dealt with life and death situations everyday. Thus it was a rare treat when Sam's older brother deigned to mess around with him.

They may squabble incessantly, but secretly Sam held his brother in the highest regard. Dean could do _anything_. His aim was almost as good as Dad's. He was even learning to _drive. _He was so cool. Nothing intimidated him. Not teachers or policemen or girls. Sam hadn't won an argument with Dean, like, ever and it wasn't for lack of trying. _I'm older and that means I'm always right, _Dean would say. _No it doesn't_, Sam would reply, but he knew that his argument lacked conviction. Dean most always got the last word.

Dean wasn't blind to the fact that his brother had him on some kind of weird pedestal. He feigned to accept it as his due, but he feared the day that Sam would wake up, realize that Dean was just a punk, that Dean had nothing on Sam. Sam was pretty much good at everything he did. He was scary smart, a scrappy fighter, he would have killed in sports if John had let him play. He was well-liked and honorable to the extreme. He had once seen Sam take on a guy literally three times his size, fearlessly. When Dean had called him on it, Sam had shrugged saying that the guy was a bully. People who looked down on Dean as a trouble maker, _trailer trash hadn't he been called enough times?_ immediately befriended Sam, wanting to take him home with them. Dean feared that deep down, that's what Sam wanted too.

But the brothers' bond was deeper than most, 'cause their lifestyle put them together against the world. Dean looked out for Sam and Sam, in his own way, protected his older sibling. Nobody got away with insulting the teen. In school, which was where Sam was at his prime, Sam made up easy excuses to get his brother out of trouble. Dean missed the little guy now that they were almost always at different schools.

"Let's see what you got," He teased, using his height to shoot over Sam's head. The shot tumbled in a little awkwardly, making the teen a little embarrassed but he soon forgot about that as Sam scrambled after the ball and gave him a run for his money.

Grinning for the first time that day, Sam dribbled by his older brother and scored a basket. Dean didn't even try and block it. "Don't hurt yourself, _old man_," Sam laughed back.

"You are _so_ going down," Dean growled, grinning proudly.


	4. Making Dad Proud

Author's note: Hope you like the new developments. Thanks for reading and please, please review!

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_**This is Not Going to Be My Life**_

John called the boys in a couple hours later, pleased to see that they both looked relaxed but not exhausted. He set them to work cleaning the weapons, preparing for the hunt. They set to, following a familiar rhythm, the silence broken only by the sound of their light hearted conversation.

"I totally beat you!" Sam was saying, his voice cheerful and cheeks flushed with the exertion of the game.

"No, way man. You fouled me!" Dean replied for the sake of argument.

"You're such a baby. I barely touched you."

"Whatever, _cheater_."

"I didn't cheat! You're the one who cheated. You were totally out of bounds when you made that shot."

"Yeah, but I get extra points for style," Dean answered, smirking. "You gotta admit, that was priceless."

Sam rolled his eyes but let it go. The two of them made quick work of the equipment, their expert hands working over the weapons, sensitive to any change or resitance that might cause them problems later on.

"Finish up, you two," John ordered. "I want to get out of here in 30 minutes."

He and Pastor Jim had decided to scope out the woods in the morning, taking the afternoon to get as much information as they could from the locals. The two hunters had a debate going, Jim thought that the disappearances were caused by a creature, a wendigo or a black dog. John thought the signs pointed to curse of some kind, probably tied to the woods where the disappearances had taken place. They would find out tomorrow when they got a look at the site.

"Where are we going?" Sam asked. His voice was more relaxed and he seemed to be showing the proper respect, but both John and Dean tensed a little at the question. John looked exasperated. Everything about the eleven year old seemed to be against protocol.

"Dean, you are going to talk to the daughter of Michael Crandell,¨ John said, consulting his notes momentarily. "Laura Crandell. Her father and twin brother went missing a week ago. Crandell was last seen heading out of town with his teenage son, age 17, some kind of local baseball star. The girl goes to the local high school, works at soda shop on 5th street. I´ll drop you off. See if you can´t get some information out of her."

"Yes, sir." Dean responded, grinning in satisfaction. Sam rolled his eyes.

"I mean about the hunt." Said John, ammusment evident in his voice.

"Yes, _sir_," Dean said, ducking his head and blushing.

"I am going to talk to the local police to see if they know anything."

Dean snorted, indicating how likely he thought that was. Sam looked uncomfortable, knowing that his father planned on impersenating a federal agent. It made him nervous, but he knew better than to say anything about that. He also knew his father had purposefully held his assignment till the end, an indication of irritation or dissipointment that had not escaped the younger boy. Sam struggled with his emotions as he waited impatiently. A familiar tension returned to his chest, but he refused to give his father the upperhand.

John gave him a hard look, one that made Sam squirm, feeling like he had failed some test because he hadn´t understood the question. "You and Jim are going to visit the Hansons. Their the closest relatives of George Paulson, the man who went missing yesterday.

_That´s all you´re going to tell me? _Sam thought, incredulous. There was an awkward pause in which Sam was on the recieving end of two expectant glares. "Yes, sir," he yelped as Dean pinched him.

Moments later, John and Dean headed out while Jim finished some church business. Sam sat on the porch, feeling fairly abandoned. A year ago they would have tag teamed it. Dean would play backup, storming in with a _Where the hell were you?_ or maybe that tender _Jeez, kid, what happened to you? _that would get the girls talking. Dean was old enough for a fake id, which put a lightyears difference between the brothers. Now Dean spent most of his time messing around with the high school girls when he wasn´t training with Dad and he had made it clear that Sam was to make himself scarce when he was talking to a girl. _He´s so perfect_, Sam thought bitterly. Even more disturbing was thought that quickly followed: _They don´t need me here_. It was like he had been written out of the family script.

Sam remebered when Dean had first explained the game to him:

_"See that girl over there?" asked Dean, leaning down to look the four- year- old in the face._

_"Yeah," Said Sammy, watching the girl refilling coffee across the street. _

_"Well," Said the eight year old. "I want you to go over and tell her that you´re lost. That you´re looking for your dad, okay?"_

_"I´m not supposed to cross the street by myself. Dad_ said_," Sammy protested. _

_"I´m going to be right here." Dean said, exasperated. "Just wait till I say to go." _

_"But Dean, Dad´s not lost. He´s right there in the car," Sam looked confused._

_"It´s just pretend Sammy. We want to talk to that girl about the, about the ghost that killed that other girl, remember?" _

_"Oh" Sam said, now completely lost. "Won´t Dad be mad?"_

_"No way, Sammy. He´ll be proud of you."_

_"He will?" Sam asked, incredulous. _

_"Sure. I promise. Just do what I said, okay?"_

_"Okay," said Sam, turning resolutely to the street. Dean smiled proudly and when the coast was clear, he gave Sam the signal. The four year old scrambled across. Sammy wandered down the street, stopping to pet the dog that was resting outside the café before he headed inside. Sam knew that Dean was watching anxiously and he looked back to reassure him before he let the door close behind him. _

_He got a couple of curious glances, but Sam didn´t respond. His eyes sought out the girl Dean had pointed to. She wore a name tag that said _Jenny_ on her uniform. Sam wasn´t scared, he was too young to know all the bad things that could happen. All he wanted was to make his Dad proud, so he went up to the woman. She didn´t look down and nearly tripped over him. At least that got her attention. Brown eyes glared down suspiciously, causing the four- year- old to shrink back._

_ "I´m looking for my Dad," Said Sammy, his small voice trembling._

_ "Well, is he here?" She asked curiously, abandoning the coffee pot and bending down. Her face was way too close to Sam´s and he could smell the coffee in her breath. _

_"No." It came out as a kind of a wail. "I´m lost." Sam summoned tears, the ones that never seemed to work on his father but always had his babysitters bending over backwards to cheer him up.__ He ran one chubby fist through his unruly hair._

_"It´s okay," the woman said, patting his head uncertainly and looking around the cafe. Sam looked mornfully at the door, but allowed her to lead him to the counter and accepted the chocolate milkshake she offered, trying to remember to look sad. "What does your dad look like?" Jenny questioned._

_Sam thought for a minute. "He´s really tall," he said seriously. When Jenny looked like she was hiding a laugh, Sam let his eyes fill again. "I just want my dad," he said mournfully. _

_Before he had time to really panic, John had came striding in, Dean at his heels. He picked Sammy up, pulling him into a hug that was so tight it caused some of the brimming tears to fall. Sam was a little scared that despite what Dean said, John was going to yell at him. He clung to his father´s jacket and, to his surprise, John kissed his head gently and ran a comforting hand through his hair before pulling him out so their eyes met. "Don´t you _ever _scare me like that again? Do you hear?" He growled gently, but Sam could see that his eyes weren´t mad. _

_"Yes, sir." Sam responded, ´cause he didn´t know what to say. He wanted to ask if John was proud of him, but Dad pressed him firmly into his shoulder for another long hug, whispering a comforting "Shhh," in the boy´s ear, which was also an order to stop talking._

_Sam got to sit on his dad´s lap for the rest of the afternoon and he got another milkshake. He didn´t really understand what the woman was talking about, but John and Dean were riveted, so he kept his mouth shut and dozed until Dad was ready to go. _

_He woke when Dad shook him, prompting gently, "Sammy, what do you say?"_

_"Yes, sir?" Sammy guessed, drowzily. _

_"**Thank you.**" John supplied, sharing a smile with Jenny.  
_

_"Thank you." Sammy responded dutifully. _

_Dad carried him across the street, buckling him into the back of the impala and running a hand through the four year old´s hair._

_"Did I do good?" Sam asked sleepily as John started the engine. _

_"Yeah, that was really great, Sammy" Dean said enthusiastically, but Sammy wanted to hear his dad say it. _

_"DAD, was that good?" _

_John´s eyes met Sam´s through the mirror of the impala. "__Don´t yell," he said firmly. When the boy looked wounded, John added "__That was fine, Sammy."_

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_I still haven´t managed to make John proud_, thought the eleven-year-od as he waited obediently for Pastor Jim to finish his business before they could head out.


	5. I'm Not Five

Author's note: Yay! Another chapter. Hope you like it. PLEASE REVIEW!

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_**This is Not Going to Be My Life**_

"Ready?" prompted Pastor Jim as he appeared on the porch, wearing his traditional clergy garb. Sam nodded and rose from his slouch to follow the old friend out to the car. As Jim went by, he reached out a hand to give the boy's shoulder a comforting squeeze. Sam glanced over, surprised, but returned the Pastor's smile.

Jim knew what it was like to be on the receiving end of John's disapproval—granted the man have never _spanked _him—but John was a demanding friend as well as father. The trouble was that John was just too good at what he did and the man knew it. Winchester had a natural talent, instincts that could not be ignored. A decade of hunting had left John with more trophies than scars and his skill was legendary among a very select community. It took guts to stand up to that kind of authority.

Yep, Jim was speaking from personal experience there as well. He looked ruefully over at the boy with an almost fatherly pride. He had been around to see Sam's transition from a sweet, bubbly toddler to a serious, brilliant young man. _Stubborn_, John called it, but Jim saw strength and resolution in the boy's adolescent transformation. Sam knew his stuff and Jim was always discovering new depths to the boy's talents. Deplorable as the current circumstances were, Jim was glad to have the Winchesters around. He mused briefly about playing chess with Sam that night, or it he _really _wanted a challenge, with John. At the moment, however, there was work to do. 

"You okay?" Jim asked as the two of them slipped into the pastor's modest vehicle.

"I'm fine," Sam replied, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. Jim inwardly snorted. The boy was obviously still feeling his punishment. But what did he really expect from a Winchester? The day one of those boys admitted to having a problem was the day the impala was soaked with blood, someone applying pressure to a gaping flesh wound. Even as a toddler Sam had been tough as nails and Dean was even worse.

"You want to talk about it?" Jim pushed.

"No." Sam said quickly, but added cryptically, "I was being an idiot."

Jim waited, wondering if the boy was going to be more forthcoming. Apparently not. Sam was all business. "So, what's the plan?" As the perpetual loser in the seniority game, Sam was used to taking orders.

"Got a preference?" Jim asked, willing to give the kid some slack.

_Not to be here_, Sam's inner voice responded bitterly, but he was hardly so badly behaved as to take his black mood out on the pastor. "No, sir," he responded respectfully.

"Okay," Jim said, leaning forward conspiratorially. "I'll be Jim Murphy, dashing, friendly local Pastor and you can be Sam Winchester, son of my irresponsible, black sheep of a brother-in-law."

Sam grinned at the Pastor's good humor, but insisted, "Sammy Michelson." Dad would be mad it they broke with protocol.

"Sam Michelson." Jim confirmed. Michelson was the alias John always used in Blue Earth, aiming for consistency in the event of reoccurring acquaintances.

"It's just a mom and a daughter," Jim said, hoping to fill the kid in.

Sam looked over curiously.

"Anna Belle is thirteen, from what I can make out she's a bit of a diva."

Sam's face was skeptical, whether from disapproval at the Pastor's use of slang or the prospect of buddying up with a difficult mark. _Thirteen and female_, this was not going to be easy. Sam was naturally a little shy, though he had been trained out of most of that at an early age. Still, older women were more of his older brother's department than the eleven year olds.

"It'll be fine," encouraged Pastor Jim, picking up on Sam's nerves. "You can just keep her distracted while I talk to the mom." 

It was nice of him to say, but Sam knew a lot more was expected of him than that. Dad would want real information. "Okay," Sam answered vaguely. Jim got the distinct impression that the boy was humoring him.

"Afterwards we can stop for ice cream," Jim offered.

_OH, that'll go over well with Dad, _thought Sam, but he just rolled his eyes at the Pastor. "I'm not five," he protested good-humouredly.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," sighed Jim, allowing Sam to pick the music as the rolled onto the highway.


	6. Sammy Investigates

Author's note: Yep, its been a while. Enjoy the new chaper! PLEASE REVIEW!

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**_This is Not Going to Be My Life _**

Sam was deep in thought when he and the Pastor pulled up in front of the little blue house in the suburbs. The neighbourhood was nice, quiet. A couple of kids were playing in the street a block down and Jim caught the soulful look that came over Sam sometimes when he was desperate to get a hold of something that was just out of his grasp.

_It's nice_, thought Sam. _It's real nice. But that means be extra careful. You can't let them see how jealous you are. _Sam knew, from very personal experience, that these communities didn't much care for outsiders. Sometimes he was adopted, like an abandoned puppy, by some generous, bored rich kid. But this had never been his turf. He belonged to a different type of people, the brave but gritty, the kind that skirted the grey area of morality.

His people were possessive. How many times had Dean claimed him, defensively extracting him from a group of normal kids? They didn't have much, but protected what they did have with all their might. Someday Sam would be like them. He was supposed to be like them now, like Dean. Dean didn't even want to be normal.

Even Pastor Jim, who wasn't pushy or mean (like _Dad_, Sam added in the privacy of his thoughts), seemed content with this life. He was there, ready to go in, to_ lie_ to these people. All for their own protection, but still, it wasn't the most honest thing in the world.

It wasn't the first time Sam's unfailing moral compass had muttered darkly at him, so the 11-year-old knew just how much good it would do to voice a protest. He silently followed Pastor Jim to the door.

The doorbell chimed inside, drawing a pleasant looking woman to the door. She smiled politely and when Jim invited himself in, she stood back to let him pass. Sam was careful to wipe his shoes on the mat, for a moment all too aware of their scuffed and worn appearance.

For once Sam caught a break (not he words he would use in front of his father, who would be upset at leaving a stone unturned), ´cause Anna Belle was at cheerleading practice (oh, you've got to be kidding).

"May I use your bathroom?" Sam asked, following another familiar script.

"Of course, Sam," said Mrs. Hanson, instructing him on where it was located. Sam smiled politely and slipped away.

So it wouldn't be a complete lie, Sam used the bathroom, which had fluffy pink towels seldom seen in the Winchester residence… though there was that one time they stayed in the haunted honeymoon suite. Sam smiled at the memory, slipping out the door silently to being his investigation.

He wasn't sure where to start, which made the search a bit harder. Calendars were usually too cryptic, but sometimes could provide clues. Theirs, which had a flower theme, was riddled with the activities of a teenage girl and didn't speak to anything sinister. Looking around a little desperately, Sam thought to try the message machine. Turning down the volume so they wouldn't hear him in the other room, he played the first two. Something about car troubles, not likely to be caused by supernatural causes, but maybe… Maria, calling for Anna Belle, Sam quickly skipped that one, feeling like a peeping Tom.

The third message made his breath catch. _Hey Peg, this is George. Ran into a bit of a snag out here._ The tape crackled alarmingly. _I'll try and make it back by Thursday, okay? _Static made the rest of the message unintelligible.

There was definitely EVP on that tape. Feeling slightly criminal, but also relieved to have found what he was looking for, Sam popped the tape and slipped it into his pocket. He did another cursory search. There was a man's coat in the coat closet, which could be George's, so Sam scanned it for EMF.

"What are you doing?" The suspicious voice made Sam jump and whirl, hiding the EMF meter ineffectually behind his back.

"Nothing." He said, guiltily. Anna Belle looked at him like she was precisely aware of the effect her full fledged cheerleading outfit was having on the hapless 11-year-old. Sam blushed furiously.

"What is that?" She asked, looking down her nose at Sam, indicating the EMF device.

"Gameboy." Sam said, flatly.

"Oh-kay." Anna Belle responded, brushing past.

Sam hesitated, then followed her into the kitchen.

"So, is there something I can _do _for you?" She asked, playing hostess with the bare minimum of cordiality.

"Um… got any pop?"

"There's _soda _in the fridge," she smiled, but it didn't take the sting out of the correction.

"Thanks," Sam said, trying to think of something quick.

"What are you doing here, anyway?" Anna Belle asked.

"Um, my uncle came to check up, you know, ´cause of what happened to your…" _shit, what was the relation again. _

"Uncle George?" Anna Belle supplied, refilling a water bottle and tossing her hair affectedly. "Hmm… thanks but no thanks. No offence, but we don't even _know _you guys. I think we'd rather just be _left alone_, ya know?"

What exactly was he supposed to say to that? "yeah…" Sam agreed vaguely.

"Anyway, it's not like he didn't know what he was doing. If he got hurt, it's his own fault." Anna Belle continued after a pause, filling the silence.

Sam inwardly rolled his eyes, maybe he was cynical, but for someone who wanted to be left alone, she was pretty forthcoming. The Winchesters were never so loose-lipped with strangers. Outwardly he lent a sympathetic ear. "Wadda ya mean?"

"Oh, he was just, like, acting really weird, ya know. Like going off by himself all the time. And he was, like, obsessed with that forest. Thought it was haunted or something." She shrugged, drinking from the water bottle.

"But he went in anyway?"

"Yeah, it was really weird." Anna Belle with finality. "Well, gotta go. Homework." She dismissed herself, leaving Sam to finish the pop in the kitchen. Sam brooded a little, letting his mind mull over the new info. They would know more once they played the EVP, but it sounded to him Dad was going to win the bet, this was feeling more like a haunting then a rogue creature.


	7. Sam's Theory

Author's note: It's been forever, I know. But now that I'm back in the boring ol' States, don't have much else to do but update. Reviews help to motivate.

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**_This is Not Going to Be My Life _**

_"Hey Peg, this is George. Ran into a bit of a snag out here. I'll try and make it back by Thursday, okay?" _

John rubbed a tired hand through his hair as they played the message for the hundredth time. Something was missing. All their efforts to interpret the EVP had been complete failures and the tape was beginning to wear down. He and the boys had been sitting in the Pastor's library for a few hours and both Sam and Dean were getting a little glassy eyed from the slow going process.

"Maybe it's _not _EVP," Dean suggested, not for the first time.

"Yes it _is_," Sam immediately protested, for some reason close to tears.

Dean rolled his eyes, patience finally fraying with his younger brother's emotional outbursts. "Sam. Get a grip," he ordered sternly.

"Dean. Go to hell," Sam responded petulantly, before he could stop himself.

"HEY!" John snapped at his youngest. "Watch your mouth!"

Sam stared mulishly at the floor. His dad's angry voice cut him deep and the eleven year old willed away tears. He couldn't believe he was in trouble again, for the second time in one day.

"Apologize. Right now," John insisted.

Sam gathered himself, then looked at his older brother. "I'm sorry," he said, almost desperately.

"It's okay," Dean accepted awkwardly. The confrontation made the teen uncomfortable.

"Sam." John continued, voice softening as he recognized that he had pushed the boy to his limit. "One hundred push-ups. Then take a shower and get to bed."

"Yes, sir," Sam said, swallowing his unruly emotions and retreating. Dean gave him a comforting smile as the boy went by. Sam let it ease his shame, forcing an ever so slight returning smile to his lips.

"Good night, Sam," said Pastor Jim as they passed each other in the doorway.

"Good night, Pastor Jim." Sam responded as evenly as he could manage before slipping down to the room he and Dean shared.

Stripping down to boxers and a t-shirt, Sam let the familiar strain on his muscles ease him as he dropped to start his push-ups. The hardwood floor was cool beneath his hands. Sam found that he was perfectly calm in a way that he hadn't been all day. The boy had perfect form and had done this many times before, under his father's watchful eye or his brother's challenging smirk. He was now glad for the privacy, promised himself he wouldn't shirk. One hundred wasn't even that harsh, though he would definitely feel it in the morning. At twenty five push-ups he was slick with sweat and the physical exertion was gradually shutting off his over active mind. He worked through his frustration, the fiery ache of his muscles helping him forget his angst and despair. At fifty he felt the temptation to ease up, his body begged to be let off, but Sam resolutely denied himself pushing forward. At seventy five, he was almost there. His muscles protested with each sharp dip, each painful lift. But he was almost there and he didn't stop. The last shriek of his muscles brought him to one hundred and he hauled himself up, padding over to the bathroom in his bare feet.

He ducked his head to the faucet, sucking some water as he caught his breath. Proudly he flexed his muscles at the mirror, admiring their tight bulge. He may be an awkward pre-teen, with embarrassingly chubby cheeks (which were now flushed with the exertion), but at least he was ripped, Sam thought with satisfaction. He was only scrawny in comparison with Dean.

Sam took a long, hot shower, glad to have the first crack at the hot water supply. Dean still wasn't back before he was done and Sam delayed a bit, reading and hoping that he would come in sometime soon. Much as he hated to admit it, Sam always found it easier to sleep when his brother was in the same room.

After a minute, Sam looked up sharply when he sensed someone watching him.

"Lights out, Sammy," John said, leaning against the doorway and crossing his hands across his chest.

"Yes, sir," Sam said, playing it safe. He really thought he had been yelled at enough for one day.

"Did you do your push-ups?"

"Yes, sir."

John grunted his approval while Sam settled into bed.

"Did you find anything else on the tape, Dad?"

"Not yet, Sammy."

"Do _you _think it's EVP?"

"I'm not sure," John answered truthfully.

"Do you still think it's a curse?"

"I don't _know_, Sam."

"I think we should check out George's apartment."

"Mr. Paulson, to you, Samuel," John corrected. He expected his boys to be polite and didn't brook much informality.

"I think we should check out Mr. Paulson's apartment."

"So you've said." John said without committing himself.

Sam breathed out in frustration, but accepted his father's authority. "Is Dean coming to bed soon?" He asked, suddenly.

"Yeah, he'll be up in a few minutes."

"Okay. Good night, Dad."

"'Night, Sammy," John said, clicking off the light before he headed back down to the library. _My little troublemaker, _John thought to himself ruefully, though with affection, as he left, _I can't _wait _till he becomes a teenager.  
_

* * *

"John, I think we've got something," Jim said as the father re-entered.

The tape clicked a few times before they all heard the word-less, inhuman growl captured on the recording.

"What the hell?" said John.


	8. Explanations over Breakfast

Author's note: Okay, I redid this chapter so hopefully it makes more sense.

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**_This is Not Going to Be My Life_**

It was before dawn when John had entered he boy's room, slipping in silently. Dean woke at his gentle summons, and John left Sam to feign sleep a little longer. He and his oldest were going do an early job. They were taking Sam's suggestion to check out George Paulson's apartment. John decided that it was more of a two person gig and Sam hadn't been sleeping well lately. So he bent to whisper "one hour" into Sam's ear. Sam had been awake at the first creak of the floorboard, but was stubbornly holding onto his sleep. He acknowledged the order with a grunt and was surprised to feel his dad's calloused hand stroke his head with unexpectedly gentleness before he and Dean were gone. Part of Sam resented being left behind, but considering even the thought of opening his eyes seemed to take a lot of effort, he supposed he could sleep a little longer. He obediently responded to his internal clock when it sounded an hour later, eyes popping open. His arm muscles twinged from last night, but he stretched out with a yawn and pulled on some clothes before meeting Jim in the kitchen.

The Pastor filled him in on the EVP results they had finally uncovered and offered Sam a cup of coffee. Sam grinned and reminded Jim that coffee tasted gross before sinking into the kitchen table. Jim made him a cup of milky tea, which suited Sam just fine, as the fifth grader replayed the tape from the portable device.

"What _is _it?" Sam asked, discipline the only thing keeping horror from his voice. While the eleven-year-old was relieved that the tape hadn't been a complete red herring, he always had mixed feelings about what his sleuthing uncovered. It's content always tended towards disturbing. This recording was no exception; the scream was nothing short of blood curdling. Since Sam had no choice in the matter, he approached the problem with scientific curiosity, his bright mind already racing to fit the piece into their untidy puzzle.

"It's just what you thought it was, Sammy," the pastor supplied, putting some Pilsbury cinnamon rolls in the oven. "EVP."

"EVP stands for Electronic _Voice_ Phenomena; it's characterized by, you know, _words_. That is not even intelligible," Sam argued, listening once more to the strange cry on before starting to set the table.

"Hmm," was Jim's only comment, a clear attempt to hide something.

"What?" Sam immediately demanded, sensing the elder's reluctance. He couldn't bear to be kept in the dark. "If it's a spirit, it would be trying to communicate something. Do you think it's a spirit?"

"Well, I think it is trying to communicate something," Pastor Jim conceded.

Sam huffed a little show his dissatisfaction with that answer. "Well, it's totally freaking me out," the boy admitted, determined eyes going to Jim's face.

"Everything is going to be just fine, kiddo," Jim promised, stopping himself from gathering the other man's son into his arms. That wasn't really a Winchester thing. _When did Sammy get to be so old_, Jim thought to himself.

Sam glanced at him sharply before flashing a placating smile. Nerves were neatly buried and all fear politely denied—those things didn't have a place in the Winchester paradigm. "You want me to cut some oranges?" Sammy asked, changing the subject.

"Sure," Jim replied.

Jim pulled the cinnamon rolls from the oven as Dean and John returned. Dean's eyes widened just as John's narrowed at the quaint little breakfast scene. Sam tried to look innocent, but before John had time to spout idiocies about not having time and losing focus, Jim's firm glare had him sinking crossly into his chair as Sam pressed a cup of coffee into his hand. Dean's grin widened as he reached for a gooey roll.

"Wait till we say grace, Dean," Sam insisted and Jim quickly stepped in to bless the food and pray for safety and the grace of God in their endeavor. With all the Winchesters satisfied or appeased, the men settled to eat while John debriefed about what he and Dean had found in Paulson's apartment.

"So looks like this guy George was getting in pretty deep. Found clippings from the earlier disappearances. Sounds like all the victims tried to call sometime in the evening, some complaining about losing their way, car trouble, some of them mention a fog even though the weather reports don't match any of the phenomena reported. They disappear without a trace, police haven't found cars or any trace whatsoever. Paulson was checking out this area of hwy 90, said he found tire tracks that just disappeared. His notes also mention a green light, which is making me think…"

"Wisp," Jim supplied.

"Right. I think it has been leading the victims from hwy 90, luring them to this region, _here._" John pointed to a worn state map that he extracted from his neat pile of research. "It's a marshy area; fits the bill."

"Will o' the wisp? What's that? Like a fairy, right?" Dean prompted, neutrally.

"Hmm," Jim conceeded. "Legend goes that it's some poor soul denied entrance to heaven or hell. Deal with the devil gets him a single burning coal, hellfire, to warm himself with. That's the light that one sees, retreating before you. It's hypnotic and leads you astray. Travelers have been know to freeze to death, walk off cliffs, sink into the swamp. They just disappear. The Wisp scavenges the body."

"This guy George probably picked up on some of the treasure keeper mythology. He had some mythology references, old Irish stuff. If you can trap the Wisp, it will give up its treasure, type of thing. Paulson went chasing after the light. Damn fool."

Dean muttered something about lucky charms, grinning, but was ignored.

"But what about the EVP? That points to a spirit, at the least," Sam brought up seriously.

"Hmm... I think the Wisp is a form of spirit, so ancient it's lost whatever human speech it might have had," John theorized. "Paulson managed to piss it off pretty good. The scream sounds like a battle cry to me. I think it was going after Paulson."

No one raised any objections. The boys cleared the table while John gave the orders. "We are going to take iron rounds and salt, in case we run into anything unpleasant. I want to see if we can find the tracks Paulson was referring to. Tonight we'll going to try and trap the Wisp. Bobby faxed over some runes that should hold it, but I want to get everything set up before sundown."

"Yes, sir," the boys assented in unison, gathering their gear and heading out to the car.

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Doors slammed and the car was silent as they pulled out from Jim's long driveway. Hunter's eyes turned sharply out every window and due reverence was paid to the task at hand. John was the unquestioned point man. Jim may have been at this longer, but that just meant he recognized that in the field, John Winchester had no rivals.

Jim glanced over at the man, whose skill and instinct forced his admiration as much as his character, blindingly good despite its roughness, claimed Jim's friendship. Then through the mirrors Jim caught the son's eye and Dean sent him a wry grin. The pastor knew that Dean was resisting making comments about the alleged "treasure" and thought the boy showed admirable restraint. Yes, Dean always kept things in perspective, didn't he? The teen met fate with a defiant grin and a snort of derision.

Sam was his brother's dark opposite. The boy's features were schooled and alert as he gazed out the window, but Jim could see already that Sam's heart was elsewhere. The patient pastor wondered if the boy dared to dream of anything beyond the life John dictated for him. If so, he had a long, uphill battle to fight. John wouldn't let the boy walk away and he wasn't sure if that was really what the boy wanted, anyway. Jim had seem the conflict in Sam building. If John closed his fist around that firecracker, he was libel to lose a hand.

Jim's dire predictions were cut short as the car pulled over to the side of the road, John indicated that these were the coordinates they had picked up from Paulson and the hunters began their work.


	9. Setting the Trap

Author's note: Review, review, review!

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**_This is Not Going to Be My Life_**

The men had been slogging through the marshy woods all afternoon, finding frustratingly little evidence of supernatural activity. Except, of course, the distressingly fresh remains of George Paulson; not too hard when you knew where to look. Jim gave the man last rites while Sam swallowed bile in his throat. The whole place gave him the creeps and he wondered how many others had been led to their deaths by the creature. The Wisps didn't always kill, they often charmed of befuddled their victims... people had been know to reappear after weeks of wandering half mad and feral after their brush with the monster.

Sam had to consciously slow his rising heartbeat. The eleven-year-old did not let his hands tremble as he held the shot gun, waiting for Jim to finish and scanning the perimeter as he had been taught.

From a little ways away, John called for Dean and the teen quickly attended, sending Sam a look that told the youngest he was "on duty." Sam immediately widened his visual scan, holding the shot gun ready. The warm feeling which came with his brother's easy trust warred with the icy shiver of fear that he would screw it up again. More often than not the Winchester's youngest was the reason easy hunts went south. He had only two years in the field, unlike Dean who had been hunting since the age of eight and assisting long before that... and both boys had helped with the "research" for as long as they could remember. Dean was the natural hunter, though. Sam tried not to be jealous of that, but he coveted the close relationship between his older brother and the father he found so hard to please. John respected Dean's instincts, took his advice. Sam got chewed out for daring to offer an opinion. It didn't seem fair.

Sam knew he was thinking too much; that he needed to attend to the hunt, but his brain was often over-active at such inopportune moments. Antoher reason he fell short of the ideal soldier and son his father seemed to crave.

"Sam!" John barked and the boy glanced over guiltily, but John simply beckoned to him. Sam willingly left his post and crouched to examine the marks John had uncovered in the roots of a tree.

"See these symbols here and here?" John demanded.

Sam nodded, filing the information away.

"These are the beginnings of the protective wards," John flipped open his journal for Sam to see. "I want you to complete the pentagram just like it says here."

"Yes, sir," Sam agreed, taking the book and laying his gun against a tree. "Um.. Dad?"

John glanced back impatiently. "I don't... I need a knife," Sam stammered.

John's demeanor darkened, but Dean defused the situation by stepping between the two, pressing the hilt of a knife into Sam's palm. "Sam, I expect you to come prepared," John reprimanded shortly, before turning away again.

"Yes, sir," Sam said, knowing he was getting off light. He quickly set to his task.

By late afternoon, the hunters had thoroughly mapped the lay of the land and put their trap into place.

They went into town to grab dinner, hitting the family restaurant in Blue Earth. Dean caught the eye of a young Carly Stout; he had struck up the acquaintance after pumping Laura Crandell for information they already had. She flipped her blond hair coyly at him and the teen shot John a pleading look. John smiled and nodded his permission. Dean quickly ditched them to go flirt. Sammy eyed his brother enviously but sunk obediently down next to his father in the booth across from Pastor Jim.

The place had the standard fair and they had been through enough to know which dishes to avoid. Sam went with his usual chicken strips and John, as usual, insisted he get a salad and milk before ordering a burger for himself. Sam caught the eyeroll before it got him into hot water and bit his tongue before he whined that Dean was drinking a coke at the counter. John might comment when the teen returned, but he older boy had considerably more freedom than his younger sibling, who had set an unfortunate precedent of picky eating which kept his father mindful of certain consumption habits.

"How are your studies going?" Jim asked Sam, knowing the question was the most likely to penetrate the adolescent's dark mood.

"Fine," Sam answered shortly, shooting John one of his reproachful looks. He read the _don't push it _set of the jaw line and knew he should stop while he could, but somehow still had something to prove. "We're doing a unit on Early American History," he commented casually.

Jim hadn't quite picked up on the egg shells they were now walking on and encouraged the boy.

"Yeah, but I missed, like, the _most important _part because we had to come _here,_" Sam spewed petulantly.

"Samuel." John said, snapping a warning finger to pull his recalcitrant youngster back in line. The fact that they were in a public place helped the boy reign it in, though it was a valiant struggle he made no effort to hide.

"Are you still studying Latin?" Jim asked to cover the awkward pause.

"Yeah," Sam said, letting himself be distracted and favoring the pastor with a somewhat sunny smile, "but they don't offer that at my school. Dean let's me use his books from the high school class, though."

John smiled fondly at his son, then shot the Pastor a sardonic grin. "Yep, he even _let _the kid do his assignments for a week. What a guy," John added with dry humor.

Sam wondered if the pride in his voice was for Sam's advanced studies or if he was laughing at him for getting himself conned. He certainly hadn't been quite so flippant when he had found out.

"I got full points," Sam thought it fitting to remind the adults. Both men chuckled at that and Sam smiled happily.

They were in and out of the diner pretty quick, hitting the road as the dusk started to deepen. The familiar tension returned and the brotherly banter that stuck up when Dean returned to the table to lustily devour his own burger quieted again. Sam looked out the windows nervously as the shadows deepened. They had a long night ahead.


	10. Sammy's Big Mistake

**_This is Not Going to Be My Life_**

Sam kept nodding off. The tense silence was warm and the repetitive motion of the car as they drove up and down the same stretch of dark highway was lulling the eleven-year-old to sleep. Dean kept surreptitiously kicking him to keep him awake, which Sam kinda appreciated, 'cause Dad would kick his ass if he caught Sam sleeping on the job, but, well, Dean didn't have to do it so _hard_. As if in response, Dean tried to nail him in the shins. Sam dodged at the last moment, softening the blow and sending Dean a glare that said clearly, _I wasn't sleeping, you jerk_.

Dean's answering smirk portrayed his usual cockiness. "Just checking, bitch," he teased beneath his breath.

"Keep your eyes on the road," John ordered testily.

"Yes, sir," they chorused and Sam blinked hard, trying to rouse himself from his stupor to obey.

"Look alive, kiddo," John said firmly, looking through the rearview mirror at Sam. Sam caught the recrimination beneath the gentleness. "This is important."

"I _know_," he snapped, bristling under the implication.

"_Sam_," John and Dean admonished together.

Sam shrugged unhappily but buckled on the pressure. "Yes, sir," he quickly amended, glaring daggers at Dean for the betrayal. Dean rolled his eyes and the lot of them went back to staring through the dark glass.

Suddenly Sam got a glimpse of something. He blinked twice, seeing it clearly before it blinked out again. "Dad!" he called softly, trying to shake himself out of the trance of it.

"Yeah?" John said, slowing immediately.

"There! I saw it. Uh... 4 o'clock."

"Okay, good work." John pulled over to the side of the road, turning off the headlights and turning off the engine. The four men suited up in silence, grabbing shotguns and flashlights.

Sam was still blinking to clear his head. He started to wonder if he would be able to resist the lure of this thing.

"Stay behind me," John ordered, catching Sam's eye specifically. Sam nodded thickly and fell in behind Dean. Pastor Jim took up the rear.

The plan was to lure the wisp to the trap they had set up that afternoon. They were the main spirit attractions, so they needed to be cautious. Witching hour descended on the dark forest, filling the shadows with phantoms. Sam shivered involuntarily, catching a glimpse of something nasty which hissed from the dank underbush.

Sam's felt like his head was a foot beneath the water. He kept tripping over branches and roots. All he could see was the pulse of the green light, drawing him. He was trying to resist the lure, but it there was strong current pulling him toward the creature. The more he fought it, the clumsier he became, until a particularly blundering step earned a hissing warning for Dean.

John whirled to see Sam fall to his knees and in moments was at his side, grabbing him roughly in concern. When Sam's eyes remained unfocused, John shook him roughly, close to panic. "Snap out of it, Sam!" He hissed in panic, raising his hand to slap the boy.

"Dad!" Dean protested.

"John!" Jim barked at the same time, moving forward quickly to stop him. "For God's sake," he said roughly, putting himself between the eleven-year-old and his distraught parent. Pulling a small vial of holy oil from his pocket, Jim anointed Sam's head, murmuring a benediction. Sam gasped as if someone had thrown a bucket of ice water over his shoulder and looked up at the pastor in confusion.

"There you are, back with us," Jim said comfortingly.

Sam's eyes strayed to his father and he was met with a dark, unreadable expression. He wasn't able to hold the older man's gaze and quickly looked down at the ground, trying to regain some composure. He was tired, like he had been running for miles, and his exhaustion brought him close to tears, which he swallowed manfully.

John ran a hand through his damp hair nervously, wondering if they had waded in too deep too fast. Now the company looked to him for instruction and he knew he had to think clearly. He couldn't screw this up. It shook him to see Sam like that, more than he liked to admit, but he knew he couldn't give in to that right at the moment.

"It's stronger than I thought," he said shortly, "everyone _be_ careful," before turning again towards the coordinates they had previously set.

Trouble was, now they had to draw the thing _towards _them, which increased their risk of falling under its spell.

The small clearing, had been transformed by the night shadows into a dark, sinister space which took Sammy's breath away. The sigils he had drawn earlier where infused with a faint glimmer, glinting in absolute darkness.

"Everyone stay back," John ordered, moving towards the middle of the clearing. Jim and the brothers fanned out to cover him while John began the summoning spell. The normal creak and hoot of the night was replaced with eerie silence and a heavy wind which rocked the trees.

Sam swallowed, his throat was dry. He knew it was coming, heard its voice whispering curses as it flitted through the trees. It was resisting the spell, hissing in rage as it tried to avoid the lure. Sam fought the urge to shoot wildly into the brush. Heart in his throat, strained to see into the darkness.

The wind rose further and suddenly a fierce crack of green lighting hit one of the trees that bore the sigil, breaking the ring. Sam saw it then, glowing with an infernal light and flickering like a TV with bad reception. It turned and looked at Sam with eyes filled with hell fire and shook like a leaf, nearly buckling at the knees.

_"SHOOT IT!" _he heard his father scream, though every sound was strangely muted. He tried though, he really tried.

The wisp flicked again, moving further away this time and Sam struggled in the quicksand of its spell to follow it, raising the shotgun which felt heavy in his arms.

Dean's shot rang out as the wisp immediately entered the clearing, going straight for John at the center.

Like most spirits, the Wisp was only semi-corporeal. Half Dean's round hit the body, which evaporated into rancid green smoke, causing the creature to scream in pain and anger. The thing quickly resolidified, flickering again in the haze.

Sam felt a pressure on his chest, the order to shoot echoing in his head. He raised his shotgun and pulled the trigger.

"Sammy wait! No, don't!" Dean said desperately, but he reached his brother's side too late. "You idiot," he growled with more animosity than he had ever directed at Sam before.

Sam broke into a sweat as he saw his father go down with groan, iron buckshot decorating his side and chest.

"Dad!" He screamed in horror. _What have I done? _

Sam had shot through the Wisp, hitting his father almost square in the side. Blood was seeping from the wounds. Sam took an involuntary step forward, only to be roughly grabbed by his brother.

"Stay back!" Dean hissed, eyes glancing around in panic.

In the blink of an eye, the creature was back, going straight for John. Sam watched in horror as his father screamed wordlessly, writhing on the ground.


	11. Cut Deep

**_This is Not Going to Be My Life_**

The following couple of minutes are a blur. Jim manages to redefine the perimeter by carving a sigil in the Northeastern point where the Wisp had penetrated. Dean kept the creature at bay.

"Get the _hell_ away from him, you son of a bitch," Dean swore, nailing the Wisp with a round through the chest. The brothers used the momentary pause to move quickly to John's side.

Sam shook at the sight of John's blood pouring into the ground. "Dad!" he yelled, blind to anything else. His first aid training surfaced and he knew that they needed to apply pressure to stop the bleeding, but John's whole side was torn to shreds.

By this time John was only half-conscious and Sam watched his father's labored breathing like a life line.

There was an unearthly shriek as the Wisp realized it was trapped and Sam's face jerked up in horror and surprise.

Then Dean was there, issuing desperate orders and hoisting John into his arms. "Help me!" he screamed and Sam blindly took hold of John's legs, scrambling to his feet. Together they hauled him out of the circle, the sound of Jim chanting the expulsion ritual ringing in their ears.

Sam stumbled backward as they lay John down.

Dean immediately tore open their Dad's ripped shirt to get a look at the damage. "Shit," he hissed through his teeth. John continued to gasp in pain, eyes unfocused.

Sam felt his heart beat hard against his chest and his stomach rebelled. He struggled to keep from puking.

Jim completed the ritual, watching the Wisp disappear in a burst of hellfire. Moving quickly, he scrambled to John's side, shedding the light of his flashlight onto his friend's wounds. "Alright, Johnny, just hold on," the pastor said.

John's eyes flickered up and then closed, breathing still labored.

"We have to get to the hospital," Jim stated. "Sam, you get the gear. Dean, help me carry him," he ordered. Both boys blinked at him in a daze.

"NOW!" Jim barked, rousing the boys from their stupor with the sharp command.

"Yes, sir," was the automatic reply as both sprang into action at once.

"Be careful with those," Dean almost snarled a Sam gathered the short guns and flashlights and extra bags. Sam gave him a blank look before nodding convulsively.

"Everything's gonna be fine, boys," Jim said, trying to ease the obvious tension and sooth the two children. The last thing he need was for either of them to sink into shock. "Sam, light the way," he ordered.

They wove their way back to the car, the older men straining under John's weight and the youngest pushed to his limit with guilt, panic and fear.

Sam's sense of direction was sure, but they came out on the road a little North and had to backtrack to find the Impala. They kept to the shadows, Sam snaking ahead with the keys and throwing open the doors so Dean could slide into the back with John.

"Move, move, let's go." Dean ordered ungently as Sam tried to help clear John's leg of the door. Sam immediately backed away, throwing the supplies in the trunk and slipping into the front as Jim fired up the engine.

Thee were no flashing lights, but Sam's ears rang as loud as an ambulance siren as they barreled toward the hospital.

"Come on Dad, stay with us," Dean choked from the back and Jim pressed hard on the accelerator.

Sam was shivering in the front and Jim cranked up the heat, glancing worriedly at the pale faced eleven-year-old next to him. The boy was curling into himself, looking out the window but seeing nothing of the dark highway. He was too young for that kind of blankness. You didn't have to know him very well see that he was wracked with guilt and the thought of it made Jim want to scream.

_Dammit John_, he thought, catching a glimpse of John's pale face, which was beaded with sweat. _You can't do this to them_. There wasn't much in the dark world he and John had been living in that put things into perspective, but the panicked look on the fifteen year old's face in the back was one.

Sam was out of the car before Jim had even come to a complete stop. "It's my dad, it's my dad," he yelled to the paramedics, who quickly converged on the car, lifting John expertly onto a stretcher and moving him inside. Jim moved quickly to catch up, answering their questions with half-truths.

Their way was blocked as the stretcher moved into the restricted area. Sam and Dean, who had been right behind, pulled up abruptly with twin looks of loss.

Dean recovered first, whirling on Sam with vehemence born of panic. "Dammit, Sam," he growled, seizing fabric of the younger boy's shirt and getting in his face. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

Sam flinched as if Dean had struck him, tears surfacing. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he choked from his constricted throat.

"That's enough! Dean, let him go," Jim commanded, putting himself protectively in front of the younger boy. Sam continued to cry, desperate wracking sobs as Dean turned the intensity of his gaze on the pastor. Jim glared back in reproach and finally the older boy dropped his eyes, swallowing hard and no longer able to look his friend in the eye.

"Go move the car," Jim ordered, knowing Dean needed something to do to keep his mind off the seriousness of their situation. "Then come straight back here, understand?"

Dean drew a short breath and accepted the keys Jim held out for him, nodding curtly and turning on his heel.

As the older boy left, Jim turned immediately to Sam, who was trying to get a hold of himself. Jim put his hands on the boy's shoulders and looked into the younger boy's watery eyes. "This is not your fault," Jim said steadily. "It's just an accident, you hear me?"

Sam shook his head in denial, trying to turn away from the Pastor's gentle grip, but instead the Pastor pulled him into a crushing embrace. At first Sam stiffened, but after a moment Jim felt him melt in his arms, renewed sobs shaking the boy's wiry frame.

Jim wanted nothing more than to scoop the miserable boy up in his arms and carry him away from this horrible night, but Sam was eleven, with a pre-teen's tender sensibilities and so Jim settled for leading him over to the waiting room chairs. Jim settled Sam against his shoulder and rubbed the boy's back while he cried himself out.

Sam was still drawing shuddering breaths when Dean returned. Jim saw how Sam's ravaged condition hit Dean almost physically. The older boy stiffened with guilt and concern. Jim knew he hadn't meant to jump on Sam, knew the outburst really wasn't like him. Dean's jaw was stiff as he returned the keys to the Pastor, but there was anguish in those eyes.

Jim tried to send him some reassurance, but Dean politely refused it.

"Sammy…" Dean said, voice full of remorse, and Sam glanced up at him with a powerful look hurt and fear before burying his head in the pastor's shoulder again. Dean pursed his lips and swallowed hard. He reached out to squeeze Sam's shoulder, but the boy flinched at the touch. They were too raw tonight.

Dean gave up, drawing in a deep breath. "Have you heard…?" he asked.

Jim shook his head.

"I'll get the paperwork," the teen volunteered. Jim smiled at him.

As Dean went to do that, Jim dug a handkerchief from his pocket and Sam took it, blowing his nose and again sucking in air like he had forgotten how to breathe.

"It's gonna be a little while before we know anything," Jim said gently. "I want you to lie down for a while." He settled Sam so the boy's head was in his lap, draping his jacket over the boy's shoulders.

Sam's squeezed his eyes tightly shut, denying the harsh light of the waiting room and closing himself off from the world. He curled up to an impossibly small mass of misery and out of pure exhaustion, fell asleep.


	12. Facing the Morning

**_This is Not Going to Be My Life_**

The pit in Sam's stomach was still there when he woke up, blinking grit from his eyes and smelling blood. He had gotten some on his sleeve the night before... the memories came back chaotic and upsetting and he sat up and tore off his the stained jacket, shivering as the cold hospital vent continued to blow down on him. Dean was dozing a few seats down and there was no sign of Pastor Jim; Sam drew a shaky breath, staring blankly at the sterile waiting room.

_Dean hates me_, Sam thought, feeling utterly desolate as he recalled Dean's earlier anger. _What if Dad_... the thought was so awful, Sam surged to his feet to get away from it. _This is all your fault _he told himself, stubbornly suppressing the dry sob that caught in his throat. Frenetically, he searched out a bathroom, rubbing cold water over his smoldering eyes, trying to find himself in the pitiful reflection that stared miserably back at him.

"SAMMY?" He heard the familiar voice, faint through hospital walls but strained with fear and anxiety. Dean had woken up to find Sam gone and had quickly worked himself into a panic looking for him.

Sam quickly dried his face and went back to the hall. Dean was the picture of not calm. "Have you seen my brother?" he demanded of the receptionist, who shrugged non-committally. "Listen, lady… " Dean said, and despite being only fifteen, he radiated threat.

"Here I am," Sam called hesitantly, hating himself even more for making Dean look for him. The teen whirled on his heel, relief immediately evident as he registered the younger boy.

"Sam, where the hell were you?" He asked "You know better than to go wandering around by yourself."

"I was just in the bathroom," Sam muttered, looking down at his shoes and feeling like shit.

Dean sighed, feeling completely unhinged. The sight of his indestructibly father, unconscious and bleeding profusely, had shaken the teen. And when Dean was upset he tended to lash out. Sammy had borne the brunt of his fear last night, which was probably why the runt was looking at him with that new wariness. _God, Sammy looks awful_, Dean thought to himself and struggled to find the words to make it right again between them.

"Sammy, listen, I'm sorry…" He broke off in horror as Sam burst into tears.

The gentle words had sent Sam over the edge. "I'm..s-so..s-s-sorry," he sobbed.

Dean put his hand on Sam's shoulder anxiously. He couldn't stand to see the kid cry. "Sammy, look at me," he said in a voice that was not to be gainsaid. Sam lifted his tear stained face. "Everything is going to be okay, you hear me?"

"But I sh-shot him."

"Yeah, well, I'm sure we'll be covering that in basic training," Dean said, forcing a smile to his lips and confidence into his voice as he ruffled Sam's hair. "You got a lotta pushups coming to ya, bucko."

"This…(sniff)…_ sucks_," Sammy stammered, wiping his nose on his sleeve.

"That's disgusting." Dean proffered, but couldn't help smiling at the statement. He totally agreed. "Come on, Sam," he said, "Have you eaten anything yet?"

"No."

"Well, man's gotta EAT," Dean said, playfully throwing his arm around his brother's shoulder. Sam turned into him and unexpectedly wrapped his arms around Dean, burying his face in the older boy's chest.

Dean breathed in a surprised breath. "Do NOT get snot on my shirt, buddy," he said, but he was smiling as he gently squeezed the back of Sam's neck. Sam stepped back sheepishly, sniffing.

"You're such a girl," Dean said, though he was grinning as they turned towards the cafeteria.

Pastor Jim hailed them in the hall. "Hey boys," he said, smiling as he saw how the boy's mannerisms had eased.

Worry was still etched in Dean's brow, but the game-face was back. Taking care of Sammy brought that spark back to Dean's eye, no matter what they were dealing with.

Sammy looked a little worse for wear, though Jim knew that Dean's outburst had hit the little boy hard in a time when he didn't have a whole lot of reserves left. With his brother standing behind him, there wasn't too much that little boy couldn't do, even get through something as God-awful as this.

"So, I talked to the Doc. He says your Dad is going to make a full recovery, so that's the good news."

Both boys nodded, faces serious.

"He's gonna be out of commission for a little while, though. We can go over the specifics later. Right now, John is being sedated. If you guys want to go in, you can. I brought some clothes and some food. Caleb's on his way out, so he'll be able to help out with some of the stuff you're dad's been working on."

"Thanks, Jim," Dean said, professional. How can a boy look so old and so young at the same time?

Sam took the news in stride, nodding his head as if to himself and stepping unconsciously into his brother's shadow.

"I'd like to see him," Dean said and Jim gave him the room number. Dean strode forward purposefully and Sam trailed him with less confidence. When he got to the door, Sam hesitated. Dean took a seat next to the bed.

Sam stood in the doorway, staring, before he turned and silently walked away.


	13. Sammy's Dread

**_This is Not Going to Be My Life_**

Dean found Sam half an hour later, sitting alone in the hospital chapel. The younger boy didn't react to Dean's entrance, though Dean knew Sammy had heard him. The older brother was doing his best not to be pissed, despite the fact that this was the second time in one day when he had to go looking for the kid. It was REALLY bad for his blood pressure.

The chapel was small and bare, lit dimly by a single overhead light and row of candles. It was the kind of place Dean avoided at all costs, ringing with a false quiet and smelling of candles and dead flowers. Sam was concertedly looking at the altar, ignoring Dean as the older boy came to sit next to him. "I told you not to go off by yourself," he reprimanded, pounding Sam lightly on the arm.

"Ow," Sam said, reflexively. He was picking at his thread-bare jeans.

"Come on, Sammy. Wanna tell me what the hell is going on with you? You all traumatized or something?"

"No." Sam insisted stubbornly, glaring straight ahead.

"Doc says Dad should be up in a few hours," Dean commented, trying to reassure his younger brother, but Sam just took a distressed breath and turned away. "Come on, Sammy. Stop being such a drama queen. Everything will be back to normal in a couple weeks."

"Yeah, _normal_," Sam spit out.

" Normal for us," Dean amended, not understanding.

"I'm not doing it anymore!" Sam said, desperate and angry.

"Doing what?" Dean asked.

"Hunting, Dean!"

"Well, that's really not up to you, kiddo."

"Dean, I am NOT going to be the reason you or dad gets hurt or killed. I'm NOT like you. I'm just... not."

"Sammy, I get that you're scared, okay? Things went a little south on this hunt, but that doesn't mean that your can just _give up. _We _need _you, Sam."

"Not on the hunt, Dean! I just mess everything up. You said it yourself that I nearly got Dad killed."

"I never said that!" Dean said sharply. The kid was twisting his words. "It was an accident, Sammy. I get that. Dad is going to be fine."

"Yeah, no thanks to me!" Sam said stubbornly. "I just... don't want you guys to hate me," he continued in a small, miserable voice.

"We DON'T hate you," Dean said, almost laughing at the absurdity. Didn't Sam see that literally _nothing_ could be farther from the truth? "How could you even think that?"

"'cause I never do anything right!" Sam replied desperately. "All Dad ever does is yell at me."

"And you yell right back! It doesn't mean anything, Sam. Dad _loves_ you." God, he felt like a chick saying that, but how was it even possible that Sam didn't know that already?

Sam didn't say anything, but went back to picking at his frayed jeans.

"Listen, you, me and Dad, we do what we gotta do. And we save a lot of people doing it. So you should proud of him, you hear? And proud of yourself for helping him."

"I am proud of him," Sam said, looking up with those earnest eyes. "An' I'm proud of you. But I don't _help_ him. I just get in your way."

"You're still learning, Sammy. Hell, I'm still learning, too. You think Dad lets me go off hunting by myself?"

"No. He'd totally kick your ass for a stunt like that," Sam said with a smirk, earning himself a light cuff from his brother.

"Language," Dean said, grinning.

Sam rolled his eyes expressively, then heaved a dramatic sigh. "He's going to totally kick my ass for _this_."

Dean smiled, commiserating. "Oh, I don't know. You could try telling him you're really, really sorry for shooting him." He did a sarcastic imitation of Sam's kicked puppy dog expression.

"I AM really, really sorry for shooting him!"

"Just like that!" Dean laughed.

"Shut up, you Jerk," Sam pouted.

"Bitch."

A plump Midwestern woman, who had entered the chapel inopportunely, caught Dean's answering insult and sent the brothers a disapproving scowl. The boys stifled their laughter as they jostled each other out into the brightly lit hallway.

They met Pastor Jim back in their dad's hospital room. Jim smiled tiredly up from where he was sitting beside John's sleeping form. Sam hesitated at the door again, but this time Dean was right beside him and gently pushed him across the threshold and towards a bag of pastries Jim had left on the small plastic table.

"Eat," Dean ordered.

Sam rolled his eyes, but selected a muffin when Dean didn't relent.

"He should be up soon," Jim said and Sam looked apprehensively at his father's sleeping form. He didn't look thrilled at the prospect.

"You want some coffee?" Dean asked the Pastor.

"That'd be great, thanks."

"I'll go with you." Sam said hurriedly, abandoning the muffin and heading for the door.

"No. You stay." Dean said firmly.

"But Dean…" Sam protested.

"What? I'll be right back. You stay here. And no wandering off. If I have to chase you down one more time, I swear to God…"

"Fine." Sam said ungraciously, though the vague threat seemed to have an impact.

"And eat your muffin," Dean added authoritatively.

Sam glared, but took a bite out of the muffin, sticking his tongue out through the crumbs.

Dean sighed in the long-suffering way of older brothers. "Real mature, Sammy."

Sam smirked.

Jim smiled at the boys' antics, turning a concerned eye on Sam once Dean had disappeared down the hall. "How you doing, kiddo?" He asked, using a long arm to pull Sam from where he was perched beside the table, to a gentle embrace by his side.

"'m o.k." Sam reassured him, though the boy's eyes were caught on his father's pale face and he seemed to recede into himself slightly. Jim didn't say anything, but let Sam lean on him while the boy lost himself in thought for a moment.

"I hate hospitals," Sam said after a moment.

Jim smiled at him. _Spoken like a true Winchester_. "We'll be out of here soon," he reassured the boy.

"Pastor Jim?" Sam asked in his high, sweet voice that made Jim want to gather him on his lap.

"What Sammy?"

"I messed up. I'm sorry." He said and Jim saw that he was still drowning in it.

"It's o.k. Sammy. Everything is going to be fine," he said gently, holding the other man's child close.

Sam took the comfort, but it wasn't the Pastor's forgiveness that he needed. He stared apprehensively at his father, desperate for the man to wake but dreading what he would say.


	14. In Times of Need

**_This is Not Going to Be My Life_**

Caleb gets in around 10:30, before John shows signs of stirring. Sam and Jim go down to meet him.

Caleb's an old friend. They were all grateful to the young Texan, not just because he was an admirable hunter and a sure shot, but because he knew insurance and credit card fraud backwards and forwards. He'd been coaching John, but they all knew who to call when their cover was blown or they needed bail money. Jim officially disapproved, but in practice... well, he wouldn't be able to cover the medical bills on his salary.

Caleb was used to handling money. He was constantly involving himself in wild schemes and shady business deals, winning and losing fortunes by the day. Lucky for the Winchesters, he generously shared the wealth, playing rich uncle to the pair of boys who didn't have much family to spoil them. He was the benefactor who supplied Sam and Dean with luxuries like comic books and bikes, watches and special tennis shoes, without ever making it feel like charity. He refused to allow John's touchy pride to disallow expensive gifts like Walkmans or leather jackets. The boys loved visiting the man's ranch, which was decked out with expensive stereo equipment and entertainment systems, including a massive video game and movie collection.

It was from Caleb, not John, that the Winchester boys had learned the subtleties of false identification, how to lie convincingly and not get caught. John was completely inept when it came to computers, though Caleb was working with the dinosaur on that. Sam lapped up his instructions about cracking codes and hacking security systems, while Dean had perfected lock picking under Caleb's expert tutelage.

He was a chameleon, one day sporting the slick suit of a card-totting businessman, the next it was cowboy boots and a thick southern twang. Today he was wearing a dark green sweater and slacks, charming smile fixed on the nurse trying to deny him entry. He steamrolled her objections with the ease of someone who spent a lifetime sweet-talking his way past security.

"Howdy Sammy," Caleb greets, nodding at Jim.

"Hey Caleb," Sam says, resisting the urge to hide behind the pastor. He's embarrassed knowing that Caleb had been informed of the exact circumstances surrounding the accident.

"That's a mighty long face, buddy," Caleb says, looking at the young boy with twinkling eyes that could find the humor in any situation. "Y'all look as if someone's been SHOT!"

"Caleb." Jim chides, face showing he thought the joke was in poor taste.

Sammy inwardly squirms, but he had been the around the man long enough to know that the teasing was a sign of affection.

"The doctor says John should be up anytime now," Jim informs the hunter.

"Ha ha! Knew nothing could keep the ol' grizzly bear down for long. Get m' bags, Sammy. Let's go see 'im."

Caleb's enthusiasm has even Sam's mouth quirking, especially when he sees the "Get well soon!" balloon poking from the shopping bag he hoists. Dad was gonna _love_ that.

Sam's mood brightens as he realizes that Caleb's irrepressible presence was just the thing to distract papa bear from ripping into him the moment he woke up from his drug-induced hibernation. John would be far to busy railing against Caleb's "hare-brained idiocies" to deal with his son's screw up... or so Sam hoped, anyway.

* * *

Dean was sitting beside John, feet up on the edge of the bed when the party arrived at John's room again. 

"Dean!" Caleb greets jovially as he crosses the threshold.

"Caleb!" Den mimics with a hint of smart-ass as he lethargically drops his boots. Caleb just grins. He's always encouraged the older boy's cockiness, much to John's annoyance. _They won't believe ya, unless _**you**_ believe you, _was Caleb's motto.

Sam puts the bags on the table, claiming one of the extra chairs silently.

"Hey Sammy," Caleb says, reaching into his bag. The guy did an awesome Santa impression. "Catch." He tosses Sam a puzzle cube. "Figure it out by Thursday and I've got two Spiderman comics with your name on them."

"I'm telling dad you're giving Sam prizes for shooting him," Dean quips.

"Oh, don't get you're panties in a twist, I got you something, too." Caleb pulls a couple of cassette tapes from the bag and letting the balloon bounce upwards, hitting the ceiling.

"Awesome," Dean says, reaching for them.

"Oh no, boyo. You're gonna have to earn um.'"

Dean smiles toothily. "Any time, old man."

Caleb tosses an unopened deck of cards. Dean catches them deftly, raising a sardonic eyebrow at the teddy bears which adorn the deck. "We better get started before your Daddy wakes up," Caleb says with a grin.

Dean hasn't managed to beat the wily Texan by the time John opens his eyes blearily. He abandons the hand immediately when he hears his father start to stir.

"Dad?" he says anxiously, moving to the man's side. John swallows painfully and Jim hits the call button to alert the nurse.

"Dean?" John says, disorientated.

"Right here, Dad," Dean says. John struggles to sit up.

"Easy there, partner," Caleb says.

"Caleb?"

"In the flesh."

John's too weak to sit up fully. He sinks down into the bed again. "Sammy?" he calls urgently.

Sam hangs back. He can't speak over the lump in his throat. Jim puts a steadying hand on his shoulder because the boy looks as if he's ready to bolt. "Sammy!" John barks, blinking rapidly as if he's still half asleep, frightened by a lingering nightmare.

"He's-" Dean speaks to reassure him.

"I'm here." Sam interrupts, stepping forward.

"Hey," John says, relaxing as his vision clears on his younger son. "Are you boys alright?" He demands.

"Yes, sir." Sam and Dean chorus.

"They're all fine, Johnny. It's you who got yourself in a bit of a bind." Caleb supplies.

John swallows again, leaning back on the pillows, the corners of his eyes crinkled in pain. But his vision sharpens as he remembers the events which landed him here, flat on his back. _Oh Lord, _he thinks, turning horrified eyes on his youngest son...

_TBC  
_

* * *

A/N: I'd love some feedback! Please review. 


	15. Sorry Sammy

**_This is Not Going to Be My Life_**

"Sammy..." John says in a broken voice. Sam doesn't trust the deceptively gentle tone. He can't meet his father's eyes. The boy had seen his dad recoil and concluded immediately that he was just as despicable as he had been telling himself. What he had done was unthinkable, unforgivable. He was a disappointment, a screwup. He would never measure up. The only reason Dad wasn't giving him the dressing down of his life was that the ban could barely move. And it was all his fault.

John shakes his head, as if clearing it. "What the hell happened out there?" he demands.

No one seems willing to fill him in. There is an awkward pause as the men shift uneasily.

"The Wisp?" John prompts.

We took care of it," Dean reports, clamming up when the nurse enters.

"Well, hello there," she says, being friendly. "How are you feeling, Mr. Michelson?"

"I'm fine," John says, defenses up. The injured hunter attempts to sit up again and the nurse immediately goes to assist him. John's face is white with pain.

Caleb snorts "Fine except for being weak as a kitten and shot full of buckshot," he corrects. John glares.

The nurse hides a smile, pouring John a glass of water and propping him up with pillows. "The doctor will be in to discuss your condition shortly. Let us know if there is anything you need."

"Thank you," Jim responds, because he is the well-mannered one of the bunch. The nurse leaves.

Sam's ready to combust, having been stewing in his own guilty juices since he unwisely pulled the trigger on his father. "Dad..." he bursts out.

"Sam," Dean tries to forestall him. The older boy is worried that the fallout from this confrontation could destroy their family. John and Sam's relationship has been on the rocks for a while now and he couldn't imagine a screw up like this could do anything but drive them further apart. "Just let him be for, like, ten minutes."

"Dean," Jim chides, knowing that the words sound harsh to the younger boy's sensitive ears.

"Can you guys give us a minute?" John asks, though its not really a request. The family needs a little time to straighten things out.

"Sure," Jim says and he and Caleb file out.

Sam looks around like a scared rabbit, eyes darting around for cover now that his two main buffers have been removed.

"Sammy," John says again, "Come here." Sam has unconsciously taken a few steps back. How was it that even when the guy's too week to stand, John Winchester still intimidates the hell out of him?

"_Now_."

Sammy really wants to run, but the voice is sharp. John was not accustomed to being disobeyed.

The Winchester boys were discouraged from crying around their father. Dean took it a step further and rarely allowed anyone to see his tears. The few times he had broken this cardinal rule, Dad had been insistent that he keep his game face on. Sammy, who was more prone to waterworks, was frequently admonished to suck it up. But Sammy can't stop the fat tears that spill form the corners of his eyes as he forces himself to approach the hospital bed. He turns his face away, quickly rubbing them away on his sleeve.

John's hard eyes soften as he sees the dark circles under his youngest son's eyes. "What are you crying about?" He says gruffly, but there's a hint of teasing and even self-mockery in his tone. "I'm the one that got shot."

Dean snorts, reading his father's mood with relief.

Sam looks at his father, incredulous. "Daaad," he protests weakly, sniffing.

John's face is serious for a moment. "That was damn foolish thing to do, Samuel. You _never_ pull the trigger unless you've got a clear shot."

"Yes, sir," Sam whispers, hanging his head. He doesn't see the compassion on his John's face.

Truth is, all John wanted to was gather his son in his arms, tell him that he was sorry,_ so sorry, _for leading them into that quagmire. He blamed himself for not letting things get out of hand. Sammy shouldn't even have _been_ there.

The father was relieved, actually, that it was him and not Dean or Sammy, God forbid, lying in the hospital bed with pain like icy fire stabbing at his side and drugs blurring the edges of his thoughts.

"Sammy, look at me," John says.

Sam raises a tear stained face. "Dad, I'm so_, so sorry,_" he whispers, moving close to John's side.

His youngest eyes are wide and glistening. How could he not forgive that face? John feels his heart pound for his youngest.

"I was scared," Sammy confesses, sniffling, "I th-thought you might..."

"Be impenetrable to iron? Thanks for the vote of confidence, kid, but I'm not superman," John attempts to be flippant.

Sam's not in the mood for jokes. He shakes his head mutely, unable to speak.

"Sammy," John says, with a gentle sigh. "I'm _O.K._"

Sam nods once, trying to compose himself, breathing gustily.

"Hey, buddy," John breaths huskily. He raises his arm, inviting his son into a rare embrace. Suddenly Sammy burrowing into his uninjured shoulder and clinging to him. It's been a long time since he's done that, John thinks, as he squeezes tightly with his tired arm.

"That's touching guys, really," Dean breaks in with a smart aleck remark, though he's grinning broadly.

"Oh yeah?" John challenges, with an matching grin. "And you, tough guy? You weren't at all worried?"

"I knew you would make it." Dean says simply and sincerely.

It's true, John knows. Dean never doubted him. He doesn't know the meaning for disloyalty. His faith never wavers.

John's heart swells with fatherly pride. They are the greatest of all burdens, the brightest thing in his world.

"Good thing Sammy's such a crappy shot, eh Dad? Or you'd be done for," Dean says to cover the emotion in his outburst.

"Deeeean," Sammy protests, sound muffled from being pressed against John's shoulder. John releases him, a little self consciously, but his hand lingers on the boy's shoulder. They're both a little afraid to break the connection. Sam looks up at him, eyes shining.

He doesn't remember seeing Sam's face lit up like this in a long time.

It's almost worth getting shot, John thinks, smiling tiredly at his boys.

TBC

* * *

A/N: the mother of all chick flick moments. Lol. Hope you didn't mind. More angst to come when Sam announces he's done with hunting for good. 


	16. A Patient Pastor

**_This is Not Going to Be My Life_**

Once the morphine starts to wear off, the honeymoon was over as far as Jim is concerned. The pastor can scarcely fail to notice the nurses' notable relief at John's intention to leave the confines of the hospital against medical advice. If the barked orders and bitching were any indication, this is going to be a long road to recovery.

Jim thinks he could handle changing the bandages and administering meds, but the man's temper is another story entirely. At least he hasn't come down too hard on Sammy, seeming to accept the incident as the accident it was. There has been some talk of extra shooting drills, but one look at the boy's haggard expression makes it clear that Sammy had already punished himself, and harshly, for what happened.

The party is headed to the pastor's, where John can at least occupy his thoughts with research and not arouse undue suspicion.

"Take it easy, goddamn it," John swears as if Jim can do anything about the bumps in the road. "Boys, keep it down," he snaps in the same breath.

Sam and Dean exchange a look, but stop the quiet bickering that usually goes on below the radar. They sit still and kept their hands to themselves, neither wanting to incur the wrath of their irritable father.

Jim pulls in beside the rectory and moves to the side to give his old friend a hand in hoisting himself from the low seat of the Impala.

John ungraciously accepts the help, hissing as he jostles his wounds. "Sam. Dean. Get the bags. Weapons need to be cleaned before dinner," he orders as he staggers towards the steps with Jim's help.

"Yes, sir," the boys chorus neutrally, doing their best to keep out of the line of fire.

"Well, he's in a good mood," Dean comments sarcastically when John is out of earshot, lifting the trunk so Sam can grab their bags.

"Dean, what about school?" Sam asks intently, voicing the fears that he hasn't had the courage to raise in front of his father. "We're supposed to be back on _Monday_. If we miss any more school, we won't even pass!"

"Chill Sam," Dean says coolly, hoisting the biggest of their bags. "I think Jim's gonna homeschool for the rest of the term. And we can always fudge the records before the next school."

"I don't wanna be homeschooled! And I don't want to move!" Sam whines.

"Well, we're not going anywhere for a little while at least," the teen cautions. "And don't even _think_ about whining to Dad or Jim about it."

"It's not fair!"

"And don't whine to me about it either. This sucks for all of us, you know."

"You suck," Sam says petulantly.

"Oh, thanks. Real mature, a-hole."

Sam's rational mind is totally and completely aware that a physical confrontation with his older and more experienced brother can only end one way, but the ordeal with his father has left both kids running on empty; trying to restrain themselves in the face of John's short temper has just led to a lot of pent up frustration. So, Sam irrationally gives his larger and stronger brother a hard, angry shove.

Dean rocks back only briefly on the balls of his feet, looking at Sam like he can't believe what he has just pulled. Without warning, Sam finds his legs kicked out from under him and he lands with a hard oomph on his butt.

"Ow!" he yells, but Dean doesn't have a lot of sympathy.

"Don't start what you can't finish, Sammy," he says with an angry glint in his eye.

Sam was trying to think of a retort, blinking back tears of frustration that had more to do with exhaustion than they did with the petty argument, when Jim comes to the door, assessing the situation with a shrewd glance.

"BOYS!" he barks. Sam scrambles to his feet, looking penitent. "What is going on out there?! Get inside, both of you!"

They know better than to argue, ducking their heads and gathering their loads before moving quickly up the steps.

Jim rubs his temple tiredly as he ushers them down the hall. _It's going to take a while to recover from this recovery,_ he thinks as he supervises the boy's chores.

The short tempers are the tell-tale sign that the Winchesters are still worried, still on edge. Sam's eyes have lost the look of panic, but the anguish of the night before still lingers in his features and Dean's jaw ticks when he thinks no one's looking. Jim doesn't know what to do with them. He pulls out a Latin exercise for Sam, looks over a truly unimpressive math test of Dean's. Both sets of eyes are dropping when he finally releases Dean to throw some knives down in the practice room and allows Sam to pull out his novel once again

* * *

"Where's Caleb?" demands his surly patient when Jim brings him a sandwich for supper. 

"He's checking out the nursing home you were researching," Jim answers, drawing on his seemingly infinite well of patience to deal with the most difficult of his Winchester guests.

"Well, I need him back pronto. We've got a Rawhead terrorizing kids outside the Twin Cities. I can't believe I didn't see it before," John says, biting into the sandwich vigorously as he gestures to the clippings spread out beside his bed.

"John, you need to take it easy," Jim cautions. "You keep pushing like this and you'll be right back in the hospital within a week."

"Well, what do you want me to do, Jim? Just sit around with my thumbs up my ass? People are dying!"

"I'm aware of that, John," Jim says coldly, "but right now I'm concerned about you and about those boys. You can't help anyone unless you take the time to heal properly. Sam and Dean need you right now, so why don't you cut the crap already?"

"Don't tell me how to raise my kids, Murphy," John growls. "They're doing just fine."

"They are barely holding it together, John."

"Just give 'um some extra drills or something. Keep 'um busy. Put Sam through the basics, needs to work on his reaction time."

"Don't be an idiot, John. He needs his father, not a drill sergeant."

"Boy's gotta learn, Jim."

"You push him away and you're going to loose him."

John scowls. He thinks about his youngest son.

Sam's bright eyes used to follow him wherever he went, used to dance for him. Now they were always looking out windows, fixed the page of some book, filling with angry tears, or vulnerable and scared.

"It's just a stage," he insists over the pounding of his heart, but he can't meet the gentle pastor's eye.

"Just try and get a hold of Caleb," he orders, changing the subject.

"Yes, sir," Jim says mockingly. John glares as his head sinks back into the pillow, helped by the healthy dose of morphine the pastor laced into the man's coffee. "Get some sleep, John," Jim says gently, slipping on his reading glasses and reaching for his book.


	17. A Friend of the Family

**_This is Not Going to Be My Life_**

Training with Caleb was a hell of a lot more fun than training with Dad, even Dean would admit to that. If the old man was well out of earshot, that is. Part of it was that Caleb had come into their lives well after John had taught his sons a healthy respect for dangerous weaponry.

In fact, the first time they me Caleb, both boys had been armed to the teeth, deadly effective with their weapons after a lifetime of serious training.

_Sam, who was nine at the time, suppressed the urge to shift nervously as John disarmed the security system on the dark estate. Dad had been trailing a cursed music box, recently come into the possession of a Caleb Apple (not his real name, they would later learn). They were breaking in to destroy it before it could capture anymore souls with the haunting rendition of Brahms Lullaby. _

_The alarm control obediently dimmed under John's ministrations and Dad and Dean were up and over the fence, with Sam scrambling behind. Dad put out a hand to steady him before he sprawled into the hedges, whispering an admonishing "hush." _

_Sammy's heart pounded hard in his ears as they stuck to the shadows around the house. He shivered as they jimmied the lock on one dark window and John boosted Dean up. John kept a sharp eye on the moonlit garden while Sammy obediently followed his brother. Dad was up and through before Sam's eyes had adjusted to the dark room and John took point again, with Dean close at his heels._

_They searched with military efficiency, getting slightly separated as the three of them combed through the strange belongings. Sam felt a little guilty, ashamed even, though he knew they were doing the right thing. They were only trying to help. Even so, he carefully returned each item to its proper place, leaving no trace of their intrusion. His painstaking care left him just a few steps behind his Dad and brother. _

_When a hand clamped down on his shoulder, nine years of training responded before his next heartbeat. He struck out, low and hard, whirling as he did so and drawing the handgun Dad had pressed into his hands as they left the car half a mile down the road. _

_The lumbering black blob swore, knocking the gun from Sam's hands before the boy could get a clear aim. "Fucking…little…midget," came the confused growl as Sam evaded the man's grasp._

_The nine-year-old, too terrified for any complicated plan of action, simply bellowed "DAD!" and punched his assailant in the balls, really putting his weight behind the blow. _

_Later, Caleb would always growl affectionately, "You're lucky I didn't shoot you," but in reality he hadn't much of chance. John and Dean responded quickly to the boy's cry, clicking on the light with guns drawn and murder on their faces. _

_Caleb doubled over, nearly, but not quite, dropping the handgun. Sam blinked owlishly as his pupils contracted, then scrambled to cover behind his two vigilant protectors._

"_Put down the gun," John ordered tensely._

"Me_ put down the gun?" Caleb gasped, outraged. "_You_ put down the gun. And take your demon spawn off my fucking property, thank you VERY much," he added as he straightened up, painfully. _

_John suppressed a smirk at the young man's expense, as they both lowered their weapons cautiously, with Dean following his father's lead. _

_Must be doing something right if my nine-year-old son could take out a full grown man on his own property, John thought proudly. "We're here for a music box," he said._

"_You know, you could have fucking knocked," Caleb said, still maintaining an air of offense but relaxing at that information. _

"_What?" John said, thrown by the change in demeanor._

"_Winchester, is it?" Caleb asked, giving the three of them an appraising gaze. _

"_How did you know?" Sam asked, before John could quell the curious question with a glare. _

"_I make it my business to know, bucko." _

_Dean snorted somewhat derisively._

"_Is there something you would like to share with the class?" Caleb said frostily._

"_That's a little dramatic, don't you think?" John said, stepping in before his cocky thirteen-year-old could voice the clever retort half-way out of his mouth._

_Caleb shrugged off the criticism. "You're after the Archer family Music box?" he continued. _

"_Yes," John said, tight lipped._

"_Well, you don't need to worry your pretty little heads about that anymore," Caleb said breezily, taking a seat, or sprawling might be a more accurate term, in an overstuffed armchair. _

"_Yeah? And why's that?" John said, naked challenge in his voice. _

"_Because I took care of it," Caleb said, eyes flashing a little. "And now I'm keeping it. I did pay for it, you know. I have quite a collection."_

"_Do you?" John said, archly. _

"_Oh, yes, for instance, that $3,000 picture your son is leaning on used to house the spirit of one James Turnery. He killed 24 people and burned down three houses and a gallery before he was exorcised." _

_Dean straightened from where his shoulder brushed the framed photo on wall, startled. He and Sam both looked at the black and white of a serious-looking young gentleman behind him, with new apprehension. The corners were only slightly smoke damaged._

"_Isn't it easier just to torch them?" Dean asked. _

"_Easier, yes. But it's ever so much more interesting to remove the spirit without damaging the vessel." _

"_You're a little twisted," Dean commented. _

"_Dean," John said, with mild disapproval. _

"_What? That is just creepy." _

_Caleb proved, however, rather difficult to offend. Not put off by the breaking and entering, the near sterilization, he made a bigger fuss about Dean inhaling most of the contents of his fridge as a midnight snack. _

He had proved himself a good friend and loyal and Jim was certainly grateful for the help. While the Pastor placated John and oversaw the boys' studies, Caleb hunted and took the restless youngsters out on training runs which bore more resemblance to beefed-up games of capture the flag than the boot camps John ran.

Despite John's griping, Jim encouraged the younger hunter to take it pretty easy. He could sense that Sam was still on edge from the accident. The poor kid didn't need his Dad or anyone pushing him hard and fast right now.

Dean, on the other hand, was straining under the pressure. He was too young and foolhardy to ease up on the younger boy, pushing Sam to prepare for the life that he was all too ready to lead.

"You're so selfish!" Jim heard Dean shout with uncharacteristic anger, glancing quickly out the window in time to see the older boy follow the outburst with a shove that nearly knocked his younger brother off his feet. "You don't care about anybody but yourself."

"I hate you," Sam said, returning the attack fiercely, his face a dark mask.

Dean deflected easily and soon the two of them were rolling around in the dirt, exchanging hard blows. Jim went quickly to the door to break up the fight, but Caleb beat him to it, hauling the two of them up by the collars and bellowing for order.

"What the hell is going on over here?" he demanded, giving the two of them a hard shake.

"HE attacked me," Sam said, still spitting mad.

"Yeah, well, he deserved it," Dean said darkly.

"Oh yeah? And how's that?" Caleb said, not letting either of them go.

"He said he's abandoning us. He's not hunting anymore," Dean said, chest heaving.

Caleb looked at Sam in surprise, startled enough to loosen his hold on the boy's shirt. Sam instantly ducked out of his grasp and took off. Dean strained to go after him, but Caleb held him back. "Enough," he growled. "You leave him be."

Dean glared. "You can't tell me what to do!"

"Oh, stop being a high school drama queen. In the house, _now_."

Dean looked disgruntled, but did as he was told.

Caleb followed, a grim look on his face.


	18. Friendly Advice

**_This is Not Going to Be My Life_**

"Don't touch me," Dean snarled, twisting under Caleb's hand as the older hunter guided him into the kitchen. 

"Cool it, bucko," Caleb responded sternly, but he dropped his hand. The Texan caught Jim's eye and motioned for the Pastor to go after the younger Winchester while he took care of John's fuming teenager.

Jim had heard the exchange through the open window and had a few things to say to Dean, himself, but knew that Sam was upset and moving fast. Didn't want the kid caught outside after nightfall. He grabbed his coat and headed towards where Sam had disappeared around the corner of the church.

"Sit." Caleb ordered, pointing to the kitchen chair expectantly.

Dean looked as if he were about to refuse on principle, but one look at the deadly serious glare the older hunter was working reminded him of the chain of command around here and he sat, making his displeasure known with a mutinous slouch.

"Okay, buddy boy, we need to have a conversation."

"Fuck you."

Caleb reached out a paw and cuffed the little upstart on the side of the head.

"Ow!" Dean protested, rubbing.

"Be civil," Caleb said simply.

Dean glared, straightening angrily in his seat. "It's none of your business, Caleb. This is between me and my brother," he said coldly.

"Listen, Junior, I've put my ass on the line more than once for you three, so don't go all injured and broody with me."

Dean just sat there in stubborn silence.

"I may have been an only child, Dean, but it's pretty clear to me how much that kid looks up to you. And what he _doesn't_ need is for you to get in his face right now."

"You wouldn't understand," Dean said, dropping his eyes. But he looked up, affronted, when Caleb laughed.

"Sorry, that's just a little more pitiful than I was expecting."

"You can be kind of an asshole, you know that?" Dean responded warily.

"I've heard rumors," Caleb said dryly, leaning over the table and fixing Dean in his sight.

Dean felt cornered in the man's gaze and squirmed, feeling a little like he had at thirteen when he "accidentally" broke an $800 vase using bow and arrows in Caleb's house while Dad was missing after some hunt in Mississippi. It wasn't good for his newly discovered independence to be grilled by his old babysitter.

"Fine," Caleb pronounced, loosing patience, "why don't we see what your dad has to say about you brawling with your eleven-year-old brother in the Jim's backyard?" Calling in the big guns.

Dean wasn't exactly pleased with the idea, but he thought that in this situation, his old man would back him up…minus the whole fighting with Sam thing, he thought with a twinge of guilt. "He's going to find out, anyway."

"What?"

"Well, it's not like Dad won't notice when Sam walks out on us," Dean said bitterly.

"Sam wouldn't—"

"That's what he just said!" Dean refuted hotly. "He said he's not hunting anymore."

Caleb let out a frustrated sigh— these Winchesters were a stubborn lot. He looked for a way to get through to the hotheaded teen. "Listen, Dean, you just gotta give him a little more time."

"I've given him ALL my time," Dean said, looking up from beneath long lashes.

Caleb looked at him, licking his dry lips. He wasn't used to seeing this kind of emotion from Winchester's oldest. Dean was always such a tough kid. "Yeah, I know ya do, Dean," he acknowledged, "and Sammy's lucky to have you lookin' out for him like you do. But how he feels about hunting and how he feels about you are two different things."

"Hunting is what we do," Dean insisted. "It's what we've always done."

"Yeah, but it's not who you are, Dean," Caleb said, popping open a beer and leaning against the counter.

"Dad's not going to let him stop hunting, anyway," Dean said.

"Then you ain't got nothing to worry about," Caleb pointed out.

Dean looked down at his hands. "He's being so stupid."

"He's eleven, Dean. It's a lot to ask from an eleven year old."

"We can't afford to be soft."

Caleb gave Dean a hard look. Boy sounded just like his Daddy. "Dammit, Dean, you _don't_ have to… You're fifteen years old."

"Yeah, and I've been doing this since I was four, and the son of a bitch that killed my mother is still out there, so I'm not looking for a career change any time soon."

"It doesn't have to be like this, Dean. You're a smart kid--"

"No, Caleb, I don't have a choice. Sam doesn't have a choice. This _is_ who we are."

"Dean..."

"I just, I don't want them to fight anymore," the boy confessed softly.

"Who?" Caleb snorted. "Mad Dad and Scrappy Sammy? Oh, I'm sure that's just gonna be smooth sailing for here on out."

Dean snorted.

"I mean, teenagers are known for the sunny dispositions, right?"

"Shut up."

"So eloquent."

"Can I go now?" Dean demanded, rolling his eyes.

"Yeah, you can go… you can go straight down to the training room and start working those exercises I gave you."

"But I already—"

"Do them again, smartass, and while you're at it, maybe think about how to be more _sensitive_ to your younger brother."

"Yeah, I'll get right on that," Dean snarked, rolling his eyes.

"Yeah, you better," Caleb said, cavalierly hoisting the boy to his feet, "get sensitive before I beat your scrawny ass."

"Wow. Now, I feel all motivated to be a better person," Dean said with a smirk.

"You bet your ass you do," Caleb said, meting out a"motivating" smack on the butt.

"Jeez, ow, you pervert."

"Don't get smart," Caleb said, raising an eye brow "and stop being a jackass."

"Yes, sir," Dean said, with enough attitude to preserve his pride, but he moved quick enough under Caleb's narrowing eyes.

"What is going on in here?" John demanded, appearing in the doorway, all piss and vinegar. His injuries had been healing slowly, leaving him frustrated and he'd been taking it out indiscriminately on his housemates. "Dean, are you giving Caleb any lip?" His tone was murderous. 

"I, uh, no, sir," Dean said, straightening automatically to attention as his father barked at him.

"He's just gonna do a few exercises for me," Caleb said, stepping into the warpath with his usual cool.

"I'll take him through," John said, nodding. It was more of an order than an offer.

Dean hid his dismay well, but there was no way he wanted to work with John when he was in this kind of mood. His eyes betrayed another worry, too. John wasn't supposed to be straining this soon after the accident.

"No, Johnny, ya won't," Caleb said and there was more than a hint of steel in his voice. "You're gonna be a good boy and get some rest, just like the doctor ordered."

"I don't need a babysitter, Caleb," John said, glaring.

"Good, 'cause I'm not gonna wipe your ass for you."

"Don't be an jerk," John said, giving in at Caleb's hard glare. "Where's Sammy? I want to talk to him about these necromancy notes."

"He's… um…" Dean stammered. This was not going to go over well.

John's eyes narrowed. "Where is he? I swear to God, if he's wandered off—"

"He didn't, he's just…" Dean tried in Sammy's defense.

"DO YOU KNOW where your brother is?" John thundered.

"I…no…"

"John, mind your blood pressure," Caleb broke in, redirecting John's angry glare.

"SHUT up, Caleb. WHERE is my son?"

"Jim's out looking for him right now, they'll be back soon," Caleb said, placating the older hunter.

"Well, when you find my son, you can tell Sam to get his BUTT up to see me," John ranted, grimacing in pain as a tight, angry hand gesture jostled his injuries.

"John."

"I'll be in the library—RESTING!" John yelled, storming out.

Dean coughs dryly in the awkward silence that settles after John's dramatic exit. "Well, someone's in for it," Dean said with a uncomfortable grin.

"Yeah, you're just lucky it's not you…at the moment, anyway. So just _go _Dean, go exercise, or whatever."

"But what about Sam?" He said, sounding young.

Caleb knew Dean wanted to protect Sam, his kid brother, but didn't always know how. Things were more complicated now that Sam was getting older. Kid was pushing the limits. The things he said scared Dean sometimes.

Caleb winked, though, being reassuring. "Jim'll find him and then we'll deal with your pain-in-the-ass little brother and your bitchy-as-hell father when they get back, okay?"

"Yeah, okay," Dean said, moving towards the stairs. Before he clumped down to take out a little of his repressed feelings on the punching bag in the basement, he turned back. "Caleb, I never meant… I'm not… it's just…They make it so _fucking_ hard, you know?"

"Yeah, buddy, I know," Caleb said, quirking half a smile. Dean rolled his eyes at the endearment, disappearing down the stairs.

Caleb held the beer loose in his hands, thinking about the Winchesters as he glanced out the window, hoping Jim would be back soon.


End file.
